“More,” I simply say, running my tongue over my lips.
“Are you sure you can take more?” He teases me, pulling his cock out of me. “I won’t hold back.”
“I don’t want you to hold back… I want you to give me your all,” I tell him, the way the words roll over my tongue making the adrenaline race through my veins.
“That’s my girl,” he says, grabbing me by the hips again. He sits me up on the couch and then he lays down, looking at me with an expectant look.
“Come here,” he calls me with a grin. “I’m not done with devouring that pussy of yours.”
Grinning back, I climb on top of him and, placing my knees at the side of his head, I offer him my pussy.
He cranes his neck and, grabbing me by the hips, presses his mouth against my wetness once more. I sway my hips back and forth, thrusting against his face as he eats me out, all of his movements pregnant with a wild and insatiable hunger.
A deep certainty fills me and I can’t help but smile—somehow, I’m sure that when we are finally old and wrinkled, our joints and muscles a ghost of a time gone by, he’ll be as hungry as he is now.
And that fits me just right, if you ask me. I’ve been missing out for the last two decades; I have absolutely no intention of going without sex even one single day for the rest of my life.
What can I say? Now that I know how good sex is, there’s no way I can resist it. Plus, Palmer… he just makes me like this. I mean, I’m sure that he has this effect on pretty much every woman he comes across, but now he’s mine.
Just mine.
As I grind against his face, he moves his hands back to my navel and allows two fingers to fall over my clit. Pressing down on it, he starts rubbing it fast, his fingers tracing circles around it.
My body tenses up and relaxes, the orgasm washing over me with an ebb and flow. The tides of pleasure are lulling my mind, the high waves of this ocean of ecstasy lapping at my body and spending the few reserves of energy I still have inside of me. But I still want more…
And I want one last showdown before making him fuck me for the last time.
I lift my legs and turn around and, with my ass turned to him, I go on all fours on top of his body. I reach for his cock and, grabbing it, I point it straight at my mouth and lower my head.
At the same time, he hooks his fingers on my hips and forces me to ease my pussy down on his face. The moment I feel my wetness against his lips, I start to sway my body at a frantic pace, bobbing my head at the same rhythm.
We go like this for God knows how long, the whole concept of time becoming completely meaningless. With his mouth on my pussy, and my mouth on his cock, I can’t really focus on anything else. And, as he licks my clit with renewed ferocity, I feel my brain on the verge of shutting down.
Still, I manage to remain unconscious, only to have another orgasm explode inside of me, the shock waves of it rushing through my muscles and forcing me to take his cock out of my mouth.
Coming up for air, I scream as loud as I can.
Breathing so hard that I’m dizzy, I climb out of Palmer’s body and, without waiting to see what he wants me to do, I go on all fours on the couch. He gets up in a heartbeat, kneeling behind me, and smacks my ass harshly with the palm of his hand. He does it again and again, and only stops when the pain becomes so deliciously unbearable that I’m moaning in ecstasy and thrusting back at him.
I have my head bowed down, my hair cascading down my shoulders. And so while I can’t see him, I can imagine the wicked grin he has on his face as he presses his tip against my pussy.
With one simple thrust, he’s in me again, stretching me as wide as only he can do. I moan and scream, the sound of it blending into something almost inhuman. My voice caresses my eardrums and then claws at it, all while a firestorm rages inside of me, threatening to consume everything that I am.
Maybe I’ll die of pleasure now; maybe my final orgasm will be so intense that I’ll stop breathing, my heart will stop beating, and then my brain will shut down. My soul will float away into the afterlife and, if all this happens, I’m sure that I’ll be going with a grin on my face. I mean, to go out with Palmer’s thick cock ravaging me wouldn’t be such a bad way to go, would it?
No… no, it wouldn’t.
When I finally come, there’s no screaming or moaning; I throw my head back against the couch and just hiss like a rattlesnake, my throat too ruined to carry on. I almost think that Palmer’s done, but when he pulls his cock out of my pussy he keeps its tip pressed against my inner lips.
Oh, sweet God… I think I’m really going to OD on pleasure.
“Do it… Do it…” I beg him, and he starts to push his cock back inside me. It moves in at a slow pace, but it goes steadily all the same. Even though my throat has given up on me, I force myself to scream one more time, the pressure of Palmer’s cock on my insides too good for me to remain in silence.
“Hard… I want it hard,” I continue, and he doesn’t need any further instructions; he starts to thrust as if his life depended on it, ravaging me like he never did before.
He buries his cock so deep inside me that I have to scream again. At the same time, he slides one hand around my waist and presses down on my clit with two fingers, immediately stroking it at a furious and almost too violent pace.
It doesn’t take long for me to come undone — one more thrust of his cock and my mind snaps, my soul shattering into a thousand little pieces with it.
I thrust back, forcing him to push his cock deep into me, and then I hold that position as a violent convulsion takes over me. My muscles are burning, my skin is boiling, and both my heart and lungs are working overtime to keep me alive. It’s a wonder that I still haven’t passed out… I feel exhausted enough to fall unconscious, but I refuse to do it as pleasure still courses through my veins.
Even though Palmer and I have a lifetime ahead of us, I don’t want to waste one single second of what I’m experiencing now.
“I want you to come,” I find myself telling him, my brain seemingly having no say about what words leave my lips. As if my voice has a magical effect on his body, his cock starts to spasm and, half a heartbeat after that, it throbs violently and I feel the warmness of his seed filling me.
Instead of gushing all his load inside of me, Palmer pulls his cock out and, still on his knees, starts to stroke himself. I feel his thick ropes of cum cover my lower back, beads of it sprinkling my skin.
By the time he’s done, all I can do is roll around so that I’m lying on my back. I take a few deep breaths, and then I sit up. He’s sitting up as well, his head thrown back against the couch as he tries to catch his breath.
Slowly, I run my fingertips down his forearm and take them to his hand. I tangle my fingers on his, and then lean into him and press my lips on his face.
“I love you,” I whisper again, somehow knowing that I’ll never grow tired of these three words. As silly as it might sound, I feel like I’m the luckiest woman on Earth.
“I love you too,” he whispers back at me, his fingers tightening around my own. My body grows cold suddenly, and perhaps feeling it, Palmer reaches for his discarded shirt on the floor and makes me wear it. He dresses me as one would do to a small child, and I keep my eyes on his as he does it, just enjoying the delicate way he’s handling me.
For a man capable of such dominance and raw power, I can’t help but be surprised at how kind he truly is. I can’t believe I used to see him as someone cold and heartless, a total asshole even.
To say that I was wrong doesn’t even begin to describe it.
Standing up, his large shirt covering most of my body, I make my way toward the large windows of his living room.
“Where are you going?” He asks me, picking his boxer briefs from the floor and getting inside them. He goes up to his feet and then joins me by the window, his arm laced around my waist.
“The city… it looks so beautiful from up here,” I whisper, not even knowing why I’m s
aying. At ground level, from the windows of the Old Tale, the city is nothing but a blend of smog and dirty concrete. But from up here, there’s a certain magic about it all.
The streets have an orange glow at night, and the tall spires of office and apartment buildings rise up in the air like Christmas trees. And though I know that no one really sleeps in a big city, right now it feels so… calm.
It’s almost relaxing.
“It does,” Palmer agrees with me, and then he’s the one brushing his lips against my cheek. “But only because you’re here with me.”
I look into his eyes, but this time I don’t say anything.
Sometimes, words just get in the way.
Smiling, I go up on tiptoes and kiss him, closing my eyes as I let the memory of this moment be forever imprinted on my mind.
Love—sometimes it’s even better than what we imagine it to be.
Hard Pressed
A Billionaire In Disguise Romance
By Vivien Vale
Copyright 2017 by Crimson Vixens
All rights reserved
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons is entirely coincidental. This work intended for adults only.
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Xavier
I try not to do this too much. ‘This’ being whisking people up and away, taking them to far-off lands for multicourse dinners. It’s a little too Aladdin. It’s a little much and, honestly, not the glamorous fun it seems in the movies.
Here’s the basic truth: I drop more than a hundred grand to make people feel uncomfortable. They’re rarely enjoyably wowed. This might be my fault.
I don’t tell people to bring their passport, bustle people into my private (but shared) plane, and get a last-minute reservation to a Michelin-starred restaurant overseas all because I love them and want more of their company.
I do it only because I see doubt in their eyes. Or, no. It’s not doubt I see, but a look of discovery when they suddenly realize who I am is not what I seem.
Like this one sitting across from me. Her name is Jane, but she seems like an Amber or Topaz. Someone either born into luxury or someone so hungry they grab at opportunities, determined to make one stick.
We met at an event at a TriBecA gallery yesterday. She handed me a glass of sparkling wine and when I went to grab a cocktail napkin, she handed me her headshot folded into a sharp square, small enough to slide into my trouser pocket.
She winked at me. I laughed. Chutzpah can be sexy, but mostly it’s annoying.
Later, I followed her as she walked around the room with a tray full of canapés, each one capped with perfect mounds of shining caviar. When she stopped and turned to look at me, I took one and, before I popped it into my mouth, I asked if she’d get a drink with me when she got off work.
Jane-Amber-Topaz smiled and then she nodded. She turned on her heel and walked to the back of the gallery and through the doors hidden behind a towering sculpture of a faceless man carved in onyx.
A minute later she was next to me. She was wearing dark lipstick and her navy trench was belted tight.
“Let’s go,” she said. I arched a brow and smiled down at her; she was tall, maybe six feet, but I’m taller still and bent slightly toward her.
“Your boss is okay with that?” I asked, my voice low.
“I’m hoping to convince you to be my boss,” she said.
We left, slid into a cab. I let my hand brush her thigh.
“This is about work,” she said, so I removed my hand and nodded, looking out the window. I brushed my hair out of my eyes and tried not to be annoyed. “Ok, let’s start with work. Which one of my businesses are you trying to break into?”
“I’m an investigative reporter,” Jane said, “and Hard Pressed has one of the best teams working right now: the Russian dossier, the CH Jones scandal…well, I guess, I don’t have to tell you about the scoops your team has racked up over the past few years.
I nodded curtly.
“No,” I said, “You don’t.” Jane’s forefinger pulsed on her thigh. She was nervous, but her eyes gleamed with excitement. I asked her, “Are you good? Where have you published?”
“Mostly in mid-market newspapers, but yeah. I’m really good. I’ll send you my clips. But also consider the facts: We didn’t just run into each other, obviously. I sought you out. I hope it doesn’t make you uncomfortable,” she said. She wet her lips with tip of her tongue and continued. “In order to find you, and get you to talk to me, I had to do a small investigation.”
“You could have just made an appointment with my assistant,” I said, feeling fascinated and wary. The air in the cab had gone still.
“We both know you wouldn’t have seen me,” Jane said.
The cabbie leaned on his horn. The moment broken.
The evening went on. We didn’t talk about her investigation. I planned to leave her at the bar and head back to my apartment alone. But she was beautiful and tenacious. I found myself fascinated and curious about what she wanted to happen next.
I listened to her talk and answered some of her questions. We both drank our bourbon neat. When the server brought the bill, I put down my black AmEx card over the bill for our drinks.
“I’m not going to hire you,” I said. “Not like this and not for that team. You want me to admire your gall and I do—to an extent. But finding out where the CEO of a major media group will be on a Wednesday night isn’t a deep dive investigation, a two-penny PI could have done just as well.
“On our investigative team, there are five Pulitzers between them. By asking questions and digging through thousands of files, they brought down one major bank and an online sex trafficking ring. What do you know about these kinds of investigations? You’re a cub reporter, tenacious but green.”
Even in the dark of the bar, I could see the blood rush to her face. At first, I thought she was embarrassed, and expressing it like a kid by blushing from her toes to the roots of her hair, but as the moment stretched I realized she was furious.
“I haven’t told you what I know about you, Stanley,” she said.
I was getting up from the table, but sat back down when I heard her.
“I changed my name,” I said, trying for nonchalance. “I’m not exactly the first person to do that.”
She nodded, smiling slowly.
“Sure, Xavier, that’s true. People change their names and you absolutely look the part of a debonair business god throwing around his black card in a dive bar in the East Village. Xavier is something else, but Stanley is…nothing much.”
I forced a laugh.
“Let’s get out of here,” I said, taking care to keep my voice so low she had to lean slightly forward to hear me.
A slight look of surprise flashed across her face.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
I smiled coolly.
“To your house to grab your passport,” I said. “I assume you have one, Jane.”
She looked me dead in the eye, and belted the last of her bourbon. A sharp nod and then she took off for the door.
We didn’t talk much and then we both slept on the plane. I had the flight attendant bring out Dom Perignon and a bowl of caviar from the Caspian Sea. I told her to use the crystal champagne flutes.
When sudden turbulence caused the plane to jolt, I watched Jane’s full champagne glass fly and smash against the side of the plane. I smiled and asked the flight attendant to bring her another crystal glass filled close to the rim with champagne.
“Let’s try that again,” I said.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“Rome,” I said.
I watched her swallow the wine, the caviar in front of her untouched. She looked out her window and I,
finally feeling calm, looked out mine.
Once we landed, I deposited her in the penthouse of the Ritz. Then, later, I sent a chauffeured Rolls Royce to pick her up.
I didn’t prepare her for the luxurious glamor of the dinner. I didn’t offer to buy her a wardrobe full of designer dresses. I was dressed impeccably, tailored suit, cufflinks, a square of silk tucked into my pocket.
Now, she’s seated across from me in a dress that looks like it was bought in a Midwestern mall in 2003. She’s still beautiful, but she’s lost her cocksure attitude.
“You’re not eating, Jane,” I remark, taking a sip of the rare vintage I ordered for us. “Is it okay? Should we call the chef over?”
“It’s perfect,” she says, a note of bitterness obvious.
I incline my head.
She picks up her fork and puts it down again.
“You’ve made your point, Xavier,” she says.
I lift my eyes to hers.
“Let me be very clear, little girl,” I say. “You may think you know me and understand some part of who I am or where I’ve come from. You learned I came from a small town, was raised by a single-mother. You might know every facet of my life, but I am and will always be more than you are: smarter, richer, more powerful, more accomplished. If you cross me, threaten me, follow me, I will—” here I pause and lean back in my chair for effect, “crush you.”
I watch her wilt. I feel both shame and satisfaction.
“Now,” I say, dabbing my lips with the napkin. “We have a few minutes before the plane will be ready to take us back home, should we get dessert?”
I watch her as she lifts her head and squares her shoulders.
“Whatever you like, Xavier.”
Back on my plane, she’s staring out the window while I’m smiling to myself.
Allie
I’m not sure why I’m here again, sitting on the black leather chair in this stuffy, cramped waiting room. The guy sitting at the back of the room looks like the receptionist, but he isn’t.
His name is Brock, a douchey name for a douchey guy. He’s the youngest talent agent in this three-person outfit and the one who didn’t get a private office with a door. Everyone who walks in and treats him as if he might be helpful in connecting them with another agent in the office is rudely and pointedly ignored.
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