BILLIONAIRE (Part 1)

by Juliette Jones

His black-satin voice seemed to penetrate the air as a physical force, touching me and ruffling me. My arousal was very nearly uncomfortable, blooming in a furtive aching swell. The champagne’s effect swirled through me pleasantly, allowing my barriers to soften and my nerves to settle somewhat. Rather than fighting my body’s responses, I eased into them. Instead of straightening the neckline of my thin sweater, I left it askew, allowing the upper skin of my breasts to be revealed. I shifted in my chair, settling onto one hip and crossing my legs, which forced the hem of my skirt to ride scandalously high. This was entirely unlike me, but I was hardly doing anything he wasn’t doing. His erection was straining at the fabric of his pants and was in fact so enlarged that it threatening to escape the confines of his waistband. I found myself wishing that it would. At this point, high with desire and a glass of champagne, I hardly cared if I got the job or not; I was enjoying this foreplay much too much. It was a completely new feeling for me, and one that I decided I needed more experience with.

  “I do require that whoever I hire must be available immediately.”

  “I’m available whenever you want me,” I replied, only realizing after I’d made the statement the double entendre. Despite the effects of the alcohol, I felt my cheeks redden. “I meant, of course, that I’m available if you decide you’d like to hire me.”

  “A few more questions first,” he said.

  “Of course.”

  “It’s a somewhat demanding job. Long hours. I need someone who can basically be at my beck and call, at any hour of the day or night. We have affiliates in London, Los Angeles, Paris, Sydney, and so forth, so we’re a 24-hour business. It can be hard on … significant others, if you were to be working a lot.”

  “I don’t have a significant other. I have a roommate, but her hours are ridiculous. She works for a law firm and she’s studying for the bar.”

  “Fine,” he said, and his smug charisma hit me in the low pit of my stomach. “There will be times when my assistant will be required to travel with me. Frequently, in fact. Do you like to travel?”

  “I’ve always wanted to, but I haven’t had much opportunity to travel, actually. I never, well, we never had the money. But as a graduation present to myself, I decided to get my passport issued, just in case I get the chance some day. I just got it. This morning, in fact. I have it here, in my bag.” I was so excited about my passport, I considered retrieving my bag from where I’d placed it near his desk, and showing it to him. This incredibly beautiful man is a sophisticated billionaire. Stop coming across like a hick and a schoolgirl, I scolded myself.

  “Perfect,” he said. He reached for a pen and a small piece of paper. He scrawled some numbers onto the paper and handed it to me. “This is the starting salary. Negotiable, of course. I will cover all business-related expenses. You’ll have a driver, and an expense account, if you agree to take the position. In addition, my apartment is in this building, and I have an adjoining studio apartment available for your use, if you have need of it from time to time, which you will, when I require you to work late into the night.”

  I glanced at the number he’d written, and held back a gasp, wondering if my eyes were deceiving me. It was more than triple what I might have expected to earn from an assistant’s job. A salary this generous would allow me to pay off my student loan within the year, especially if I could cut down on other expenses.

  “What do you say?” he said.

  “I say … yes.” My voice was no louder than a whisper.

  “Well, then, Lila. You’re hired,” he purred, leaning forward to place his empty glass on the desk.

  As he moved, I caught a light whiff of his scent; he smelled of soap and mint and masculinity. And there was more to it. Something elusive and outrageously, crazily appealing. The light-musked spice seemed to unfurl something in me, intoxicating me with an unruly obsessiveness. Unconsciously, I leaned slightly towards him.

  The long strands of my hair fell forward with my movement, spilling over my bared shoulder.

  “Your hair,” he said softly, fingering an end strand, “is lovely.”

  My lips parted. I was having trouble breathing in enough air. I wanted to breath his air, his breath. That scent of him, that one whiff, was not enough. I leaned closer, quietly urgent for more. His fingers twirled around the strand of my hair, forming a lightly ensnaring hold, pulling gently. I followed his pull, encouraging it, accepting any invitation he was giving. Sensing my consent, he pulled me closer, and closer, until my mouth was only inches from his. My nipples had softened during our discussion and with the soothing effects of the alcohol. Now, at his nearness, they rose and peaked into tight little buds of sensation. Concentrated lust seemed to center there, and radiate slowly throughout my body in shimmery, uninhibited waves. Alexander released his grasp on my hair. His movements were dreamlike and tentative, like he was being guided by foreignly vehement urges that he was attempting – unsuccessfully – to control. His hand paused near my breast. His lower lip was close to my mouth, as plump as ripe fruit. Unable to hold myself back, I brushed my mouth against his lips in a feather-light kiss, touching my tongue to the rounded curve of his lip. He groaned, and his fingers touched my nipples through the soft fabric of my top. He teased them between his thumb and fingers, kneading them into ripe buds. Searing sensation surged through my body. I gasped as he pinched tighter, rolling my aching flesh more insistently, controlling me entirely with his touch.

  “This is not actually a requirement of the job,” he said against my mouth, cupping my breast in his large palm, squeezing lightly. “Tell me to stop and I will. Tell me to continue and I … will.”

  “Don’t stop,” I whispered. The ferocious urges of my body were driving me, and I realized with a passing current of concern amid an ocean of surrender that I would do anything he asked. Anything. His effect was flooding me with fire. “Please don’t stop.”

  He pulled at the ties of my wrapped cashmere top, until the fabric parted. My full breasts bounced gently as he freed them, the rosy hue of my swollen nipples sultry against the pale white of my skin. Alexander deftly peeled off my top, until I was naked from the waist up.

  My skin sang under his worshipful stare as he drank in the sight of me. “I was not expecting such a perfect … luscious creature to walk into my office this afternoon. I had no intention of …” He seemed almost overcome. He swore under his breath. He was torn, I could see, by the thought of taking advantage of me, his new, young assistant. It was a strange and sudden turn of events, and entirely unforeseen. But I was too far gone to allow his internal dilemma to steal from me this stunningly needy anticipation.

  “Alexander,” I said, kissing him again. I licked his lips with tender, inviting supplication, opening to him. His tongue sank into my mouth, searching intimately, filling my entire being with want. I sucked on his tongue, gently greedy, desperate to take more of any part of his body into any part of mine.

  “God, Lila. You taste so fucking good.” His voice had become rasped with lust and … not indecision, but turmoil over a decision already made.

  I wanted more from this big, perfectly made pirate-cum-mogul than I had ever before imagined, ruled entirely by the pull of his intention and the promise of his touch. I stood before him, loving the heated feel of his gaze on my body. Willing him to touch me, to put his hands on me, I looked into his dark eyes, letting my eyes rove to his sinfully inviting mouth. A stranger to myself, I felt a jolt of pure joy as his hands rested on the curve of my hips. His fingers circled the waistband of my skirt, easing to the back where he began to slowly unzip. I squirmed as he pulled my skirt down, to rid myself of any barrier between his hands and my scorched, restless skin. He made a soft, savage sound of appreciation as he saw that I wore nothing underneath and his breathing quickened.

  Clad only in my tall boots, standing before him, I felt utterly foreign to myself, like I’d just climbed out of some underwater seashell and been reborn as a lusty nymph who had no inhibitions, who was made p
urely of hot, lurid physical sensation. I knew the pink, swollen furls of my sex would be fully visible to him. He would see how wet I was, how much I wanted him. His black eyes were heavy-lidded as he touched me everywhere with his blazing gaze. He licked his lips. A hint of shyness – some vanishing vestige of my old self – loosened as I reached my hands to rest on his muscled thighs. I eased his thighs further apart, standing between them. My breasts were just above his mouth and felt sensuously full and aching with need. I touched myself, pinching my nipples, playing them. “Taste more of me,” I whispered. I offered myself to him and he held my breasts in his big, warm hands, plumping them to his mouth, taking my nipples in lust-driven pulls, one then the other. I moaned with the billowing sensation he inspired. His hands were on me, slow and stealthy, wandering but not delivering, as though to torture me.

  It wasn’t enough. The pulls of his mouth were too good, too rife with sensation. Each tug sent a wash of molten feeling into my liquid core. My sex felt unbearably hot and ripe, like I’d been dipped in warm honey.

  I climbed onto him, straddling his hips. The massive rigidity of his raging erection was stunningly hard, and hot, even through the layer of his clothing. His strong hands clamped onto my hips, holding me exactly where he wanted me. Our eyes locked in a connective link. A strand of his black hair had fallen over his forehead, somehow softening his severe beauty. I touched the thick silk of it, as our gazes held, and a startling thread of tenderness passed between us, strengthening the lust, stoking it. He began to move me, just slightly, rolling my body against him. Answering his lead, I writhed against his straining erection, rubbing against the rock-hard outline of his cock. The intense hardness of him pressed against my plumped sex, kneading it, forcing a rolling, circling pleasure.

  Not satisfied, not close enough, I began to unfasten his belt buckle, and unzip his pants. I fumbled with the fastenings, unable to find ease or dexterity; I was too hazed in a trancelike eagerness as he was revealed to me. I might have moaned at the sight of him. At the sheer size and perfection of him, dusky and silken and immense. I wondered abstractly if he would protest. Instead, he helped me as I pushed his pants down low on his hips. After a long moment of awed appreciation, I took him into my hands and caressed the long, stiff length of him. He was so hard his erection lay against his taut stomach. I touched him tenderly with both hands, fingering his length, cupping him, feathering my fingertips everywhere as he watched me do this.

  Alexander’s hands were still on my hips and he pulled me closer, until my sex was touching his, rubbing against him, along his length, wetting him with the honey of my desire until his cock was slick with my own juices. I was so aroused that the tiny nub of my clit felt electric and hyper-sensitive. Alexander’s thumb circled my saturated folds, centering, touching. With the squeeze of his fingers, he pulled lightly on that little erect bud, igniting a potent bloom that almost undid me.

  Blind with need, I guided the broad tip of his cock to my snug, slippery entrance. He swore under his breath, the sound agonized. He said my name. He bucked upwards, at the same time grasping my hips in his firm grip, thrusting into me, once, and again. I was forbiddingly tight, yet his thrusting drives forced his thickness deeper. He lifted me slightly, allowing my arousal to moisten him, to ease his passage, and he thrust again. I moved with him, grinding and opening to him until I was impaled fully, riding the huge length of him, clenching my soft core invitingly around him. His fingers found my clit, working a soft, squeezing, cyclical motion, while his other hand rubbed me from behind, finding the tight, secret place, pressing in a dueling, connective rhythm. Aware of nothing but the harmony, the rising pleasure of our joined bodies, I lost myself, engulfed by a release so powerful that my body writhed and clenched with the overload of ecstasy. My inner muscles drew so forcefully around him that he groaned as if in pain. He was saying something but I could barely comprehend. Wait. I can’t hold on. But my body was too possessive, too slippery, and I was still riding, still pulling him deeply, again and again. I felt the flooding wetness, the violent pulse of him deep inside me. The silky beat of his climax rubbed sensuously against a sensitive place, causing another wash of spiralling waves that milked him softly, again and again, until I had collapsed on top of him, wrapped naked around his still-clothed body.

  We sat that way for some time, rocked by the intensity of what had just taken place. His arms were around me. My head rested on his chest. I could hear his heart beating.

  Despite the glaring fact that, in a distant long-ago state of mind, I might have felt remorseful for my total abandon, that the consequence of what I – what we – had just done could and would be far-reaching, I felt supremely, ridiculously peaceful. I was warm, and euphoric, cocooned in a circular haven high above the bustling city, wrapped in the arms and still moistly connected to a tycoon Adonis, stranger or not. I didn’t want to move. I savored the lingering bliss, the recalcitrant pleasure that, even now, held on. I wanted more.

  After a time, my sated body stretched slightly, attempting movement, testing soreness. With the small change in position, Alexander’s barely-softened shaft slid inside me. I was surprised that he was still as large – and erect – as he was. I was hardly experienced with these things, but I knew this to be somewhat unusual. In a subtle adjustment, he swivelled his hips, causing his cock to sink deeper in a vague, circular rub that triggered a new, instant arousal. I was unsure how I could be so easily renewed, and so soon after what we had just done. But the sweet pressure as he continued to explore his deep, lazy thrusts caused me to gasp and to moan. I unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt, exposing his chest. I inhaled his masculine scent, layered now with sweat and musk and satisfaction. I clasped his nipple gently between my teeth.

  He flinched, chuckling darkly, and hugged me against his body, gripping me and lifting me. Still connected, he lay me onto his desk. He was above me, his mussed-up hair framing his heartbreaking face in a lion-like mane. I smiled at his transformation from only a short time ago: the cool, unapproachable top-floor CEO turned unruly, untamed sex god. I loved what havoc my hands had wrought upon his hair. His dark eyes glimmered and his gaze was meaningful and tender. Then he kissed me, softly at first, gaining momentum as he thrust into me.

  Now he was in control, utterly, gripping me with both hands, lifting my hips higher so he could drive deeper. I wasn’t sure I could come again after the momentous releases I’d already experienced but his drives were measured, relentless in their pursuit of not only his pleasure but my own. He was listening to me, gauging my every breath, my every whimper. He was reading my reactions as he played my body, taking every quivering flutter to heart. With great skill and unequivocal insistence, he coaxed a rising surge within me. “Come for me,” he whispered. “I love the little sounds you make. I want you to come for me, Lila.”

  “Yes,” I moaned, as he found a brazen sweetspot.

  Triumphant, he rocked me, pushing deeper against the sensitive trigger, forcing the bliss. I rode the tidal wave, exploding from within, shattering in pleasure. I scraped my nails along his back, drawing him ever deeper as my body coerced his own orgasm with long, tight, silky pulls. He didn’t try to pull out of me this time, even though he easily could have done so from this position, and I didn’t ask him to. It hardly seemed to matter; we were already bound.

  Alexander stroked my hair absentmindedly for a time. Then he pulled gently out of me. He stood above me, his eyes roving my body. Abruptly, he paused, touching his fingers to my intimate folds. He face looked appalled, almost furious, as he held up two blood-stained fingers.

  “Lila. My God. You’re a virgin?”

  Alexander

  Fuck.

  I couldn’t believe I’d gotten so ridiculously carried away. Christ. I just fucked my new assistant.

  The new assistant who was still peacefully sleeping in my bed with me.

  I’d meant to pull out, at least. But I’d been so fucking overcome with lust that I’d spent myself inside her. Mor
e than once. There was simply no way in hell I could have disengaged myself from that tight, clenching, juicy little heaven on earth.

  Goddamn it all to hell. That had never, ever happened before. Not even close. It hadn’t even occurred to me to put on a condom. Or anything else. The minute that goddess had walked into my office, with her sultry green eyes and her short skirt, practically oozing sexuality, my brain had taken flight and left the room. Leaving my goddamn cock in charge, which was never a good thing.

  She was so fresh, so innocently voluptuous, so fucking young.

  The sane part of my mind wanted to wake her, to politely ask her to leave, to tell her I still had a few more people to interview and I’d be in touch. I wouldn’t call. I’d send her some flowers and a gentlemanly note. Done and dusted. She wasn’t the most qualified for the job anyway, not by a longshot.

  I watched her as she slept, surprised at myself for even bringing her here. I never brought women to my apartment, which was adjacent to my office. It was a door I kept decisively closed. Until now, apparently.

  Her sunny blond hair spilled over the pillow in a silky cascade. Her pink lips were puffy from my greedy kisses, insanely soft and tempting. The smooth skin of her jaw was reddened slightly from the stubble of my beard. I’d been rough with her. Too rough. I’d taken her not only in my office – twice – but several times during the night, damning all consequences. And she was a fucking virgin.

  Or at least she had been. Yesterday.

  She must have been twenty-one at least. Maybe twenty-two. What kind of girl waits that long? And why?

  Her dark-blond eyelashes lay in graceful curves against her pale cheeks, dark at the roots and lightening to an almost white-blond at the tips. Her makeup was all but gone, aside from some light smudges on the pillowcase. I thought of waking her, just so I could see that sea-green burn in her eyes.

  The sheet lay low on her hips, drawing a line across the concave plane of her stomach, framed by the jut of her angular hipbones. Her breasts were a work of art – there was no other way to describe them. Full and rounded, high and plush with youth, the little buds of her nipples like cherries on the perfect, creamy vanilla mounds. Her nipples were soft now, in sleep. And I couldn’t resist. I was already harder than I’d ever been. Maybe equal to yesterday, or last night. I hardly cared about the comparison. What I cared about was the soft pleat of her rosy skin, tightening even as she slept, under the glide of my tongue. She tasted like nothing I’d ever experienced. Sweet, somehow. Floral. Like she’d stepped out of a garden at midnight, while eating sugary cake and blossoming into full-blown womanhood. I sucked on her like I was trying to draw that taste from her body. It was perverse, almost, the greed and need I felt. Mother’s milk, or something like it. Virgin’s milk, sweetened with honey, mixed with lust and the loss of innocence.