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

by Lexi Duval

  Jeans, dark blue and patchy, cover his athletic legs, and on his wrists he wears what looks like a very expensive watch. Although, frankly, it could be a fake.

  He holds a light scowl, but as soon as he sees me his eyes brighten and a desirous grin stretches between the corners of his mouth. He looks happy with what he sees, his eyes quickly taking me in with a quick scan.

  “Well hello Abby...it's good to meet you. Shall we get started?”

  Chapter Two

  Vince steps forward into the room, walking straight past me as I shut the door behind him.

  In fact, walk isn't quite right. He saunters, that's what he does. He strolls like he owns the place, glancing around at the fixtures and fittings with a slight look of disdain on his face.

  When he turns back to face me, he begins removing his leather jacket, displaying arms taut with muscle and glistening with a bronzed tan. He throws the jacket onto a chair in the corner, and looks me up and down once more.

  “You look like your pictures.” He says it with a slight slant of surprise in his voice.

  “So do you.”

  “It's unusual to look just like the picture. Most people never live up to them.”

  “So, you do this a lot?” I ask hurriedly, my heart still pacing.

  “I've done it once or twice. First time for you?”

  I nod.

  “Yeah, I can tell.”

  He steps forward, passes the mirror, and checks himself out. There's an arrogance about him that would normally put me off but which, in this case, I couldn't care less about. As I said, this is about sex, not personality.

  And fuck me does the guy look gorgeous.

  As he looks in the mirror, he kicks off his shoes, and takes off his vest, revealing that body I'd ogled so many times in his pictures. Breathtaking is the word, because I'm literally having trouble breathing right now.

  Then he moves onto his jeans, undoing them, removing them, tossing them to one side. Before I even know what's going on he's in his underwear while I'm still fully dressed.

  The bulge of his penis is clearly visible underneath, his briefs leaving little to the imagination. And my pussy, which was already wet and frothing from my little masturbatory session, continues to moisten.

  He looks at me now, holds his arms to each side, and shrugs his shoulders.

  “So, we doing this or what?”

  He's basically asking me to get undressed like him. But it's not quite so easy for me, being my first time. The last time I was even naked in front of anyone was two years ago, and that was a boyfriend who I knew inside out.

  Shut up, Abby. I quickly tell myself off inside my head. Sex...it's only sex. Now take your damn clothes off!

  So, I do what the devil inside me orders, and pull my dress up and over my body, leaving me in just my underwear and small heels. The shoes quickly join the dress in a heap on the floor, dropping me down a few inches.

  “So, you wore what I asked you to? You look amazing.”

  His eyes are lust heavy, gleaming with desire. Meanwhile I'm just thinking about the obvious patch of wet at the front of my panties that hasn't yet had a chance to dry.

  He seems to spot it, and his eyes narrow further.

  “You look like you're ready for this...”

  He smiles, confidence dripping off him, and sticks his hand under his briefs and grips his cock. He pulls it up, shuffling his underwear to the floor, and slowly begins sliding his hand up and down the shaft.

  I'm transfixed. Not only at the ample size, but at his complete and utter disregard for any sort of official process. I mean, I thought we'd at least talk first, maybe try to set the mood. Start with a kiss, go from there.

  But no, he's been here about 3 minutes and he's already standing naked in front of me, with his dick in his hand, casually jerking off to the sight of my body and the obvious wet patch on my panties.

  Well, Abby, you asked for sex...and you're gonna get it.

  “You gonna take off the rest or...”

  He smirks at me and I remove my bra, letting my breasts fall into position. They're not big, but enough for a handful. Vince's eyes light further when he sees them.

  He's still slowly tugging at his cock when I pull down my panties, flick them to one side, half sodden, and stand in front of him, nude, with my hands covering my groin.

  “If your hands are gonna be there, they might as well being doing something useful.”

  He steps toward me, his now fully erect cock swaying from side to side, and puts his hand onto mine. Then he guides my fingers between my thighs, over my clit, and up into my pussy. He slips my index finger in, then joins it with his own.

  “How's that?”

  Oxygen is no longer forthcoming, and I'm frankly unable to answer for the spread of carnal joy rushing through me.

  Somehow, the guy's found my clit quicker than I could myself, probing my own finger and his into just the right spot to summon the brightest spark of pleasure I've felt in years.

  Who is this guy, some sort of sex angel send to take me to heaven for the night?

  As he massages me, he reaches forward and takes my other hand, pulls it toward his dick, and fastens my fingers around the shaft. It's big enough so that my fingers find it hard to reach all the way around.

  Then he starts coaxing my hand up and down, as if teaching me how to jerk him off, his own hand on top of mine. So now, he's got us both fingering and tugging ourselves and each other at the same time.

  That's certainly a first.

  And with all that going on, and with hands and fingers everywhere, he leans in, wraps his lips around my nipples, and begins sliding his tongue across the surface of my breasts until there's a light sheen of saliva covering half my chest.

  It's all impossibly delirious, and nothing like what I had expected. Namely a bit of kissing, some light foreplay, and then awkward sex, probably with most of the lights turned off.

  Nope.

  We're standing, naked, in the middle of the room, lights blazing and half of our erogenous zones all being worked at simultaneously. And if I wasn't thinking so much, I'd probably have lost myself to it all and orgasmed already.

  After about 5 or 10 minutes his hand is sliding out of me and my hand is being removed from his dick.

  And now he's moving me to the bed as if I'm just a human sex doll, hands caressing my ass as we go, fingers always working their way over my skin.

  “You're so soft everywhere,” he says, peering behind my back, lightly gripping my ass. “And you ass....wow.”

  “Thanks,” is all I manage. Frankly, I don't think he's looking for me to speak unless he's asking a question. It seems like he just enjoys describing and complimenting me.

  He leaves me standing by the side of the bed, and goes toward his jeans to retrieve a condom from his pocket. That's almost unexpected in itself. The guy seems like the type to just stick it in and say to hell with the consequences.

  “Just to be safe,” he says, although I can tell he'd rather go without. I guess the same could be said for any guy really.

  Like a pro he slides the rubber over the head of his thick dick and up the shaft, reaching about two thirds of the way to the base. It looks ribbed, little bumps running along its surface.

  I'm pushed, literally, onto the bed now. My eyes spark with an ounce of irritation but all he does is smile.

  When he opens my legs and slowly dips his condom covered dick through my lips, however, I forget all of that and just about everything else in the world. When he pushes deeper, mining inside me, I'm pretty sure my own name escapes me for a while.

  I'm filled, and the pain I'd have expected doesn't come. Probably because I'm so damn wet and he's taking it slow, only inching in bit by bit, before pulling out, and then having another go. Again, I'd have thought – from what little I know of him – that he'd just stick it in and ignore my own needs.

  But he doesn't. In fact, he's taking things gently, slowly rocking his hips, gyrating them wi
th the flexibility of a gymnast, and probing at various angles as he shifts his weight and steps from one leg to the other.

  My own legs are also flung up into the air, one at a time, and then both over his shoulders. He pulls my legs closed, making the entrance to my pussy tighter, and continues to fuck me like he's been doing it for a thousand years.

  Then, he's got me twisting onto my side, both my legs to the left lying one atop the other. He keeps going a bit more, before twisting me further round until my breasts are squashed down into the soft bed, the soles of my feet are planted onto the floor, and he's pumping away behind me groaning and repeating over and over how 'fucking amazing my ass is.”

  He sticks me from various doggy type positions, hitching his left leg, then right leg, onto the bed for greater purchase, before pushing me forward so I'm lying prone on the bed, legs closed. I hear him gasp as he digs his dick between my ass cheeks, discovers by tight black slit, and begins pumping his groin against my ass, dick sliding so far into my pussy that I truly have forgotten who the fuck I am by now.

  I begin to lose track of time, my head reeling as if I'm on some sex rollercoaster without any idea of where or when it's going to stop, or what the fuck might be coming next.

  I take no control at all, letting him move me around like a plaything. But he's screwing me so well that I don't question it or even say a word. I just moan and groan and lose myself to him as he takes me by the hand toward the sort of orgasm that you see porn stars faking.

  But this one's real.

  So real, in fact, that my usual bedroom reserve is completely lost. By the times he's got me coming for the first time I'm shrieking so loud that the guests staying next door actually make a complaint, forcing a poor bellboy to have to knock on our door as ask us, very politely of course, to keep it down.

  “It's not your fault, this shit hotel's got thin walls,” says Vince, body now covered in sweat and hair dark and wet.

  He walks back to me, having gone next door to tell the complainers to 'fuck off', dressed only in a white towel and with his erect cock still very obvious behind it.

  He drops the towel, climbs back onto me, and proceeds to fuck me even harder in an attempt to make me come louder.

  He succeeds, although I put all of my efforts into keeping my voice down.

  “Fuck them. We can do what we want in our own room!”

  He pumps again, harder, deeper, longer. And I wonder how the hell he hasn't exploded all over me yet.

  By the time he's reaching his own climax, he's slipping out of me, tearing the condom off, and pulling me up into a seating position on the bed. Then he coaxes my lips over his throbbing dick, sliding it up and toward the back of my throat as my body continues to convulse from my latest climax.

  He doesn't warn me when he's going to come.

  I feel it gushing right into my mouth, hot and salty, covering my tongue and lips. It's not exactly what I had in mind, and something I've never done before, but fuck it. I spit it all out, though, right onto his chest, which only makes him laugh and call me a prude.

  “I knew you weren't a swallower.”

  By the time he's jizzed all over me, he looks pretty spent, his eyes suddenly darker and more empty. As with most men who've just come, he suddenly turns monosyllabic, while I'm drawn toward the inexorable need to kiss him and lie naked next to him in the bed.

  All he does, though, is go to the bathroom, wipe his chest clean of come, and then proceed to dress as I sit there, naked and panting on the bed, wondering what to say.

  “You were great Abby, really great. But I've gotta go, OK.”

  That's all he says. He doesn't even tell me he'll be in touch or even come over and give me a kiss, not even a peck on the cheek.

  Just a standard, pre-planned goodbye that he's probably said a hundred times before. Although, to his credit, his does add: “I'll pay for the room, as I said. Enjoy it for the rest of the night, OK.”

  Then he's off, stepping out into the corridor without glancing back.

  Chapter Three

  When I wake the next morning it takes me a little while to remember where I am and what happened the previous night.

  As it all comes back to me, some strange feeling of disbelief dawns, as if all I'm remembering is a dream that didn't really happen.

  Vince was, despite being arrogant, rude at times, and incredibly controlling, the very best I could ever have expected from an online hook up. He was so good, in fact, that I feel as if I've well and truly made up for my two years without sex in that single night alone.

  Three orgasms, one of which was so fierce it brought a complaint from the guests next door, was much more than I could possibly have hoped for. And, like I said, it was all about sex and nothing more. So that fact that the guy was a bit of a conceited dick really doesn't matter.

  In fact, it's probably a good thing. If he'd been sweet and kind and had stayed over, maybe I'd have woken up actually liking him. God forbid I ever meet someone I actually like through such seedy means. Not exactly a story of 'this is how we met' to tell your grandchildren.

  When I leave the room, and pass the key back to the guy behind the counter downstairs, I double check to make sure that Vince actually paid for the room.

  “Yes Miss,” I'm told, “all paid for.”

  So, after fretting about him turning up at all, it's a double win. Great sex, completely free of charge! I do a little skip as I walk out the front entrance.

  The day is warm, sunny, and seems brighter and more glorious than it has for a while. After a night of great sex, that will happen to you. In actual fact, it's pretty much just the same as yesterday.

  Really it's me and my mood that's changed.

  Knowing that I had lunch planned with my mother, I'd packed some sensible clothes. So thankfully I'm not stepping out in the same summer dress and sexy lingerie as yesterday.

  Today it's shorts, a light white top, and regular, overlarge and far more comfortable underwear. The rest is tightly packed in my small travel bag, along with my trusty vibrator.

  It's roughly midday when I reach the restaurant, a small, quaint little place near the South side of Central Park. Through the window I see my mother waiting, short and blonde like me and, frankly, looking rather beautiful. In fact, she looks so young that people often mistake her for my sister, and not just when they're trying to charm her.

  And that happens a lot.

  The charming part that is.

  Men seem to fall at her heels on a daily basis, despite the fact that she's nearing 50 now, and she's certainly not without her ream of admirers back in Long Island where she lives.

  I step in through the door, hear the little bell sound above my head, and watch her leap to her feet, big smile on her face. She seems ultra smart today, her hair with a brand new ultra stylish cut.

  “Abby darling!” She comes forward and tucks me into her small arms.

  “Hi mom, you're looking nice.”

  “Oh, this little thing.” She does a twirl in her dress. “It's new, do you like it.”

  “Yeah, it's beautiful. Looks expensive.”

  I drop my eyes accusingly, knowing my mother's penchant for wasting money on nice clothes. Unfortunately, she doesn't have the money she used to. Ever since my father lost his fortune during the financial crash, she's been having to watch the cents and pennies a lot more closely.

  Of course, she divorced him soon after, citing irreconcilable differences. Money will do that to a couple, break them down until all they're doing is arguing and wondering why they're together. And my mom, used to a particular way of life, simply couldn't take it.

  So, she dumped him before quickly picking up a new boyfriend who could take care of her needs. That didn't last, of course, but the hunt for her has never ended.

  The search for money goes on...

  So seeing her dress, it's not hard for me to imagine where it must have come from. And the brightness of her smile would suggest that perhaps one of those sui
tors has managed to snap her up.

  “I suppose it must have been...”

  “Where did you get it mom?” My tone is accusatory.

  “Well, we'll get to that,” she says, drifting back toward the table. “Sit down, have a drink.”

  She pours me a glass of wine from the bottle of chilled rose and then leans forward.

  “So, how is my gorgeous little girl?”

  “Pretty much the same as when I saw you last. That was only a week ago.”

  “I know, I know. But you're so young, things always change fast when you're young. So, any good news on the job hunt.”

  I take a deep breath and let it all out in a long sigh.

  “Not really. I've got an interview next week though.”

  “Well that's good!”

  It isn't good, because I'm lying.

  There's no interview. I just tell her these things to keep her off my back and avoid further questioning about the 'direction of my life', which is a common topic that she seems intent on revisiting each time we see each other.

  “And, what's it for?”

  I shrug, thinking on the spot.

  “Just some admin role, mom. It's hard with a stupid art degree to get anything much better.”

  “You'll find something great eventually honey. You're my little Abbacus, you'll find your way.”

  Urg. Abbacus. I've never liked that stupid nickname.

  In an effort to get the attention off me, I turn the conversation back to her in a bid to uncover the truth about this new dress.

  Without wanting to waste time, I just go ahead a blurt it out, right after we've given our food orders to the attending waiter.

  “So, who's the guy then?”

  She looks up from her wine innocently, and a smile begins to spread.

  “Come on, don't keep me in suspense. You've got me here for a reason, so spill.”

  She takes another sip of wine, her expression turning giddy with excitement as if we're two schoolgirls discussing the latest juicy gossip from class.

  “His name's Stephen Black, and he's filthy rich.”