Romance: The Billionaires Collection (Watched By A Billionaire, Stranded With A Billionaire, Caught By A Billionaire, Billionaire Stepbrother)

by Lexi Duval

I lose myself to him even more in that moment as I lean back against the cold mirror, my body thrown around and fucked with the vigor of a bull. His eyes turn darker, losing focus as the storm rages inside him and his dick begins to belch up the fruits of his loins.

  He comes in me so hard I feel like I'm being shot inside my pussy, the warm gush spreading deep, filling me up. Our breathing creates a sexual mist in the room that would give any man an erection if they walked in, any make any girl's cunt start growing immediately wet.

  And then, when we're done, he takes me to the shower, turns on the water full blast, and we wash each other's bodies until we're clean, dripping, and exhausted of all sexual need, at least for now.

  He dresses in a robe, and I do the same, and with his focus returning and voice growing calm, he looks me deep in the eye and speaks.

  “I don't want you performing here again, Ashley.”

  His words are almost prophetic, because I want exactly the same thing. But still, I have to ask.

  “Why?”

  “Because I think you're perfect, and you shouldn't be here. I've had to suffer watching you fuck all these men, and I can't take it anymore. If it's money you need to set you free, I'll give it to you. Just don't come here again.”

  “You can't just give me money,” I say.

  He leans in, an intensity in his green blue eyes.

  “Then earn it off me.”

  And with that he kisses me, deep and hard and passionate, and our tongues link together within our mouths, binding us together in a contract.

  Oh, I'll earn it alright.

  And instead of fucking the men down here, I'll just fuck him instead.

  PART THREE

  Chapter One

  “I'm sorry, Randall, I just think it's time for me to quit. But, I really appreciate everything you've done for me...”

  “It's quite alright, Ashley, it really is. There's no need for any drawn out goodbyes.”

  I'm sitting at dinner with Randall once more, but this time the tone of the conversation is completely different. It's the sort of dinner that draws a line under everything, a courtesy to wrap things up nicely in a big bow.

  And this time, I'm paying.

  Frankly, I didn't expect him to take it quite so well, but then, he has always been incredibly affable and casual about everything. In truth, I'm probably over exaggerating my own importance and value in the show room. In reality there are dozens of girls who are just as good as me waiting for their time to shine.

  “Might I ask, what's prompted you to call it a day?”

  He's probing, his intelligent eyes spying for some reaction.

  “I just think it's time I followed my dream. With your help – which I'm very grateful for – I've made enough money to restart my life. It's time I started looking to the future.”

  He takes a sip of expensive wine, and I can't help but think that every time he lifts the glass another twenty or thirty bucks are disappearing down his throat.

  But then, I promised myself I'm going to pay, and it's not like I can't afford it now. With all the money I've accumulated, I've got over half a million dollars sitting in my bank account, all post tax profits.

  He puts his glass back down, and burrows his eyes inside me.

  “And this has nothing to do with Mr Trent?”

  My confused reaction is genuine. I have no idea who Mr Trent is.

  “Sorry...who?”

  He must be able to spot my genuine bewilderment.

  “Ah, so he never told you his surname huh?”

  I shake my head.

  “Who?”

  “Grayson Trent. I run the shows, Ashley, and I'm the one who put him in the room the first time he requested it, and the second, when he was part of the orgy. I know what happened when he took you out of the room, away from the rest of them.”

  He narrows his eyes, peering at me through two slits.

  “So, does he have something to do with it?”

  “Not really. Well, a little bit. But then, I wanted to quit anyway before he told me to.”

  “He told you to?”

  “Yes. After the orgy, when he took me to one of the dressing rooms. He didn't like me being with those other guys. He said I should quit.”

  “I understand. Sometimes the clients get attached to the performers, against their better judgment. It seems that Grayson has done that with you.”

  Attached. Really? I kinda like the sound of that...

  “Now, you should be aware that Grayson Trent is an extremely powerful and influential man. I would exercise caution with him, Ashley. Stick with your dreams of becoming a designer, and focus on that.”

  “I plan to. That's why I'm quitting really, not because of Gray.”

  “Good. And please, don't let him know that we had this conversation. He might hold it against me, and I could do without a man like him on my back.”

  We conclude the dinner with me thinking that powerful or not, I still want Grayson Trent between my thighs as often as I can. In any case, what exactly would his power and influence have to do with me? Nothing, really, as he's only interested in my pussy.

  When it comes time to pay, I insist to the point of getting angry, but Randall never lets me get my credit card out.

  “Ashley, my dear, don't go wasting the money you've earned on me. Really, the money means a lot less to me than it does to you. Please, let me.”

  Eventually, I give in, feeling a strange mixture at anger at not being allowed to pay, and gratefulness for not having to. The final bill, it seems, it in excess of five hundred dollars, and I'd rather not part with that money on a single dinner if possible.

  When Randall leaves me, he urges me once more to focus on my dreams and put everything else aside. He doesn't mention his name again, but I can tell that he's trying to put me off Grayson within the subtext.

  All it does, however, is fuel my curiosity, and by the time I get back to my new apartment in Manhattan, I'm desperate to load up my laptop and discover everything I can about the man.

  I spend the next hour in the company of a bottle of wine and Google, trying to suck as much information about Gray as I can from the net.

  The most pertinent fact I discover is his profession, or I should say his business. He's a weapons manufacturer, and his family have been developing arms for the US military for quite some time.

  By all accounts, Gray is quite an aggressive negotiator, and is ruthless with his competition to ensure that his family business secures the right military contracts. Frankly, though, it all has nothing to do with me, and whatever his job is I don't see why it should be cause for me to worry.

  What my eyes are most drawn to most, however, are the images of him I find. The pictures of him in suits and tuxedos meeting military officials and politicians. There's even one with him in the White House, his hand firmly grasped to that of the President in a pally fashion.

  But even this vaunted company doesn't interest me as much as his smoldering eyes, his jaw of stone, his high cheekbones and strong, muscled physique. Behind those suits I imagine his tight pecs and abs, his thick dick nestled in his underwear and creeping down his leg.

  As I look at the pictures of him I think of our last meeting, of him thrusting inside me on the counter of the dressing room. His eyes were on fire then, filled with a look that said I am his, and his alone.

  Possessive, the guy certainly is, and perhaps that's what Randall was warning me about. A guy that possessive with that much power can make like difficult for you if things don't go his way.

  But, right now, I can't think that anything's not going to go his way.

  Right now, all I can think of is how happy I'll be for him to possess me.

  Chapter Two

  “A car will come to your apartment and bring you to me. Dress as you did in the show room. I can't wait to see you.”

  Those were the last words Gray uttered to me on the phone two days ago. He'd told me that, on Friday evening at 7 PM, he wanted to see
me. He didn't ask me if I was free or whether I wanted to see him too.

  He just told me, with total conviction, that he wanted to see me, knowing that any plans I might have had would be blown aside by the invite.

  Having learned the identity of the man, I'm even more feverish with excitement than before. Randall's warning, for me, means nothing, and was simply meant as an almost fatherly piece of advice.

  Despite the nature of our working relationship, Randall had become quite close to me, and I think all he was doing was trying to look out for me. I appreciated the sentiment, and told him so.

  But I wasn't going to stop me seeing Gray.

  That evening, at 7 PM on the dot, a luxury Mercedes rolls up outside my apartment building. I step out in a summer dress and light jacket, with my sexy bra and panties underneath, as ordered.

  I've already had a glass of wine to help settle my nerves, but as soon as the driver ushers me inside the car, I'm welcomed by the sight of a bottle of champagne, ready to pour.

  There's a note on it: help yourself, the drive will take a while.

  So I indulge myself and sit back, enjoying the luxury ride and watching as the world passes by outside my door, bathed in the orange glow of the setting sun. the journey takes a little under 45 minutes, taking me to a dock in the south of Manhattan where a helicopter sits waiting on a helipad.

  Inside, Gray sits with a cigar in his mouth and a glass of champagne in his hand, smiling at me as I exit the car.

  He steps out, and paces forward, dressed in a delicious shirt and pant combo that accentuates the power of his physique. He leans in for a kiss and passes me the glass of champagne.

  “For you, my dear.”

  I take the champagne, feeling like a princess, and can't help the giggle from escaping my lips. Then we approach the helicopter, and I notice the name of Gray's family business emblazoned across the side of it.

  Trent Munitions

  In the world of arms development, it's a powerful name, run by one of the wealthiest and most powerful families in America.

  And here I am, about to get into a helicopter with one of them, having no clear idea as to what to expect.

  “First time in one of these?” Gray asks as we buckle up in the back and the helicopter's blades begin to turn.

  “Yes,” I return as the world grows ever louder.

  “Well, don't worry, it's not for long.”

  Worried? I'm not worried. Do I look worried?

  He takes another glass of champagne from a small table in front of us and clinks it against mine just as the helicopter lifts from the tarmac.

  “Tonight will be a night you'll never forget, Ashley. I can assure you of that.”

  Somehow, I can't quite work out whether he's talking about some sort of evening he's got planned or just the inevitable sex. The latter, I'm sure, will be amazing. But somehow this seems like more than that. I was expecting nothing more than a quick fuck in a hotel suite.

  We rise quickly, gliding up vertically into the air and gently tipping forward as we head out over the Hudson. Within minutes, Liberty Island is looming in front of us, the statue rising high into the air.

  Down below, the place is bereft of tourists. In fact, it looks completely deserted.

  Slowly, the helicopter begins to descend, falling toward a patch of land on the island and coming to a stop with a light thud.

  The clattering sounds of the rotor blades begins to weaken, and the pilot quickly comes round to open the door.

  “Here we are,” says Gray with a smile.

  He steps off, before helping me out, and I look over the desolate island, blanketed with the orange hues of the fading sun. With the magnificent and towering statue looming above us, Gray leads me up to the base, jutting out in various directions in the shape of a star.

  We move round to the front, and ahead I see the magnificent skyline of Manhattan dominating the view, tall skyscrapers launching themselves to the heavens with a thousand twinkling lights.

  “Have you ever come here before?” asks Gray.

  I shake my head, gazing at the sight ahead and the giant statue behind.

  “Never. I've lived nearby for most of my life but never actually came here.”

  We reach the front of the star, and I see a table set up with a waiter standing nearby, standing to attention in his black shirt and pants.

  “Good evening, Mr Trent,” he says, popping the cork out of a bottle of champagne.

  “Good evening, Brian,” replies Gray, pulling back my chair and settling me down.

  Brian pours two glasses before whispering in Gray's ear and retreating.

  “I hope you're hungry?” asks Gray as we put our glasses to our lips.

  “Ravenous,” I venture, although the look in my eyes suggests it's not food I'm ravenous for, but something else.

  Under the light of the fading sun, and caught between the statue and the beautiful sights of Manhattan in the distance, we eat and drink and laugh. Soon the first bottle of champagne in done and we're onto another, our starters and main dishes just about the most delectable food I've ever eaten.

  Brian comes and goes, rushing in and out with our food and fresh bottles of champagne, all set up beyond in some sort of portable kitchen/cooler combination.

  “Is he your personal waiter?” I ask.

  “Not personal, just someone a hire sometimes when I need some catering help. As you can see, he's very attentive.”

  I gaze around us once more, still wondering why and, more importantly, how, we're alone.

  “Isn't the island usually filled with tourists at this time?”

  Gray offers a lopsided grin.

  “Usually, unless it's accepting special guests.”

  “Like you...”

  “And you, Ashley.”

  “I'm not special.”

  “You are to me.”

  Our evening continues, the sun descending below the horizon and the stars beginning to sparkle above. Now we're lit only by the lights around the statue and its base, creating luminous glows here and there in the darkness.

  When we're done, Gray asks me if I'd like to go to the top.

  “Can we?” I ask.

  “Of course,” he says. “You can do anything when you're with me.”

  So we enter the statue, and climb the spiral staircase up through its belly, eventually reaching the crown and staring out through the various viewing windows just above the great lady's head.

  “Magnificent,” I hear Gray say behind me.

  “It is,” I respond, half in a dream, staring at Manhattan from my new vantage point.

  Then I turn, and realize that he's not looking out of the window, but at me.

  “It's you who's magnificent, Ashley,” he says.

  He moves behind me, standing right at my back, and his lips begin to drizzle down my neck, his lips nibbling at the back of my ear, his hands wrapping around me, gripping at my breasts.

  Then I hear his belt buckle being undone, his zip being pulled down, his pants falling over his thighs and to his ankles.

  And as he pulls up my dress, and removes my panties, I just stare out at the world, wondering if life will ever get any better than this moment.

  He drops to his knees, and my panties fall in his hands, and I feel fingers probing, hands gripping at my ass cheeks as his tongue presses forward toward my pussy from behind.

  I arch my back, push myself out, and widen my legs slightly so that he can get inside. And as he tells me how great I taste, how perfect I smell, I feel my loins beginning to throb, a moistness quickly warming around me.

  He stands, and I feel the press of his chest against my back again, the touch of his lips against my neck.

  Both his hands drop now, his fingers sliding up my thighs and bringing my dress with them. He pulls it up above my lower back, bunching the fabric so that my bare ass is shining under the light below him.

  “I can't get enough of your ass,” he whispers, as I feel the thick head of
his dick slowly sliding down between my ass cheeks.

  It snakes over my asshole, reaches my wet lips and pulses hard with the throb of blood as it gradually disappears inside me.

  I gasp as he slides deeper, my vagina not quite prepared for him, but quickly lubricating. Soon he's so deep that the flesh of his crotch is pressed right up against me, his entire length engulfed within my insatiable pussy.

  Locked together, he feels perfect inside me, our shapes linking like a lock and key. He stays inside me for a while, my ass slowly grinding against him as his hands explore my chest, reaching around and diving under my dress, past my bra, onto my breasts.

  My eyes start to blur as I stare out through the crown of the Statue of Liberty, the lights of Manhattan merging as one in the distance. Gray starts to pump, slow at first, then faster, harder, until my voice is bellowing and echoing down through the spiral staircase.

  My lustful song escapes the statue, rings out over the island, but neither of us care. Down below, I can imagine Brian standing, listening to what we're doing above, perhaps smiling or perhaps feeling incredibly awkward and embarrassed.

  But I don't care.

  This moment is one that will lock down into my mind forever. Sex in the liberty crown, with the entire island as our private getaway, and the grandeur of Manhattan framing the view in the distance.

  It's perfect, exciting, exhilarating.

  And soon we're both coming hard, Gray's pulsing groin stabbing at me harder and harder until my eyes threaten to roll inside their sockets and my voice has turned to a gurgle of moans and groans and the odd word of salacious joy.

  “Harder,” I plead. “Faster.”

  He obliges, and the convulsions run through me with more power and force.

  “I'm coming,” I mumble, my voice caught between breaths.

  It spurs him on even more, and soon I know he's coming too. The rhythm of his strokes change, growing more febrile and frantic, his hands gripping harder at my ass, my tits, squeezing at my neck and twisting my head round until our lips lock together in a rough kiss of passion.

  We reach a crescendo, both our tremulous bodies shaking in unison, until suddenly the world begins to go limp, and he's sliding out of me and kissing me deeply, more tenderly.