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

by Lexi Duval

  His father, of course, has clearly grown out of such things, if he ever had them at all. I quickly deduce in my head that Stephen Black probably came from nothing and built his fortune himself, maintaining that down to earth persona that is incredibly endearing.

  His son, on the other had, has most likely grown up with extreme wealth, surrounded by like-minded people, and has therefore developed a disdain for everything he feels is beneath him.

  So now, as he kisses my mother's hand and gives her the most gracious of compliments, I know that it's all a big show. When he comes and kisses my hand, rounding the table to approach me, his eyes confirm my suspicion.

  They light up as they meet me, that cockiness coming to the fore once more, and a quick grin passes by his face like a high speed train, quickly disappearing as he turns back to the others.

  “I'd like to apologize for being late ladies. Timekeeping has never been my strongest suit.”

  “Well at least you're man enough to admit it,” says Stephen. “Now let's move on and hear no more about it. Come on, we've only had our starters so far so you're here in time for the main.”

  Tyler takes a seat next to me, and I can smell the smoke on him immediately. There's also the hint of something else, a light, fruity fragrance that smells nothing like the sort of cologne a boy would wear.

  And then I realize that it's the same perfume I was wearing last night when his body and mine were tangled in the throes of our carnal desire. Clearly, he hasn't yet showered, although thankfully he has decided to come dressed in a suit, not that leather jacket and vest combo he wore last night.

  Dinner restarts, and an awkwardness fills my body that I don't quite know how to deal with. Tyler himself seems to be completely at ease with everything, drinking wine, eating heartily and never giving any sign to the others that we already know each other.

  The same can't be said for me.

  From across the table, my mother's eyes pick something up that must show in my expression. A crinkle in the nose, a wrinkle in the forehead. Something to suggest that, suddenly, I'm not particularly comfortable.

  “Abby, honey, are you OK?”

  A fake smile hits my face.

  “Yes, mom, I'm fine.”

  I take a sip of wine to hide myself away and tuck right back into my food, which is delicious but I'd hardly know it now. My appetite does seem to have all but dried up since Tyler arrived.

  Stephen, meanwhile, flows right back into the swing of things, once more entrancing the group with his many stories to which Tyler groans and yawns and cuts in with 'not this one again' several times.

  It hardly seems to put Stephen off, who merely continues without losing stride. And all the while I begin to notice Tyler's eyes skipping to me every so often, see that smirk come and go out of the corner of my eyes when his father and my mother aren't looking.

  And me? Well, I hardly say a word, and just try to keep my head down and keep on grazing on my food until the evening draws to a close, praying for a quiet and easy exit.

  As dinner winds up, Stephen invites my mother out for a nighttime stroll under the stars. He stands, takes her hand, and leads her to the door, telling Tyler and I that now might be a good time to get to know each other a little bit.

  As soon as they've left, Tyler turns to me, twisting in his chair and finally letting that grin return to his face and stay there.

  “You know, Abby, I think we know each other pretty well already.” He winks at me, and all I do I shake my head and try not to react.

  “So I'm surprised that you're actually called, Abby. I mean, if I wasn't sure it was your first time before, I certainly am now. That's a rookie error that, using your real name online.”

  I bite.

  “Yeah, well I didn't expect to see you here! And, seriously, if you're going to use a fake name...Vince...really?”

  He shrugs. “Babe, I'd could call myself Princess fucking Margarita and it wouldn't make a difference. Who gives a shit what your name is when you're just there to fuck?”

  “Yes, well, maybe I'm just a naturally honest person,” I retort.

  “You should drop that habit if that's true. Honesty gets you nowhere in life.”

  He refills his glass and does the same with mine.

  “So, your mother and my father huh. How bout that, I certainly didn't expect to walk in and see you here.”

  “Maybe it's fate,” I say sarcastically, thinking the guys just about the biggest dick in the world.

  And then my stupid brain actually thinks of his dick, and my eyes instinctively glance down at his pants.

  Stupid fucking brain...

  “Maybe it is,” he says. “You know, since we're here...”

  He glances back at the door, making sure it's shut, and leans right into me as if he's trying to kiss me.

  I pull back, my face screwing up, and hold my hands up between us.

  “Whoa, whoa....once was enough...”

  He laughs loudly and seems to take no offense at all. In fact, he looks to be loving every damn minute of it.

  “Maybe it was...I did make you come three times, remember. It's probably more sex than you've had in a month.”

  Make that two years.

  “Yeah, I was faking for two of those.”

  “No you weren't.” His voice goes flat, as if the idea that I'd fake it with him is insulting to his ego. “I know a proper orgasm. Trust me, I've heard enough.”

  “I'm sure you have. But why like that?”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, with a random girl from the Internet like that. I mean, I've got to be honest with you Vince, or Tyler, or whatever the hell you're called...you might be a bit of a cock, but you're rich and good looking. So...”

  “I get it. You think girls are falling at my feet all day, right? And I can just pick and choose and fuck who I want?”

  I shrug my shoulders. Frankly, that makes him sound a bit too cool, and is probably giving his massive ego a nice massage, but I can't deny its viability.

  “Well, sure, maybe I could. But I like the whole online thing and the fake name thing. Gives me some anonymity.”

  I actually have no pithy retort to him this time. That actually makes perfect sense, sleazy as it is.

  Not that I can really say that now. I'm just as bad as he is.

  “Anyway, why are you being so hostile? We had fun, didn't we?”

  I memory of eternal pleasure flows like a wave through my head, bringing a genuine smile to my lips.

  “I suppose.”

  “Then what's the problem, Abby? OK, I know I can come across as a bit arrogant...”

  A bit?!

  “...but I'll make sure I'm nicer from now on, OK?”

  “Now on?”

  “Sure. My father loves your mom, and I haven't seen him like this in years. And he's very into family, so we're going to be seeing a lot more of each other.”

  He holds his wine glass up, ready to toast something.

  “So let's make an effort to be friends....deal?”

  I hesitantly take my glass, raise it aloft, and tap it against his.

  And just as I make the promise to try, I watch that same look of lust flutter behind his narrow eyes.

  Chapter Two

  “I'll hear nothing of the sort. We have plenty of room here, I absolutely insist.”

  Stephen is standing hand in hand with my mother, both of them looking deliriously happy after returning from their romantic moonlit stroll around the grounds. The slight ruffle in my mother's usually immaculate hair would suggest that they did a little more than walk, a thought that I quickly relegate to the back of my head.

  “Abby honey, what's the problem. It's Sunday tomorrow and we thought that we could all have lunch together.”

  Stephen has just asked me to spend the night, and I'm trying to think of an excuse not to. However, one isn't forthcoming, and it's late and I'm a long way from my Queens apartment.

  I fake a smile and nod.


  “I'd love to stay, thank you Stephen. But...I don't have any spare clothes or my toothbrush with me.”

  Stephen waves it off.

  “That's fine, my dear. I'll have Nigel find you some clothes and a toothbrush and whatever else you might need.”

  “Oh...well, brilliant then.”

  It's only Tyler, still next to me, who sees that I want to get out. He probably knows that it's because of him as well.

  Stephen leaves the room and returns with Nigel.

  “Nigel here will show you to your room, Abby. Is there anything you need before bed?”

  I shake my head.

  “Then we'll call this goodnight.”

  He kisses my hand again and my mom gives me a hug. Then the two of them retire into the main hall to climb the wide staircase to the first floor. From there, I have no idea where the mast bedroom will be.

  “Right Miss Grace, this way.”

  Nigel ushers me out of the room, but not before Tyler has a chance to tell me to 'sleep well' with a wink and a glint in his eye.

  I can just about hear the sound of my mother's laughter echoing from above as we climb the stairs and reach a gallery that stretches around to the left and right, overlooking the main hall with its fine paintings and sculptures and marble floors and high, vaulted ceiling.

  At the top of the stairs, a corridor marches both ways, running parallel to the front of the house and leading into various other rooms. Nigel leads me right, away from the sound of my mom's giggles, which have now been cut off behind a closed door, and into a guest bedroom.

  It's the sort of magnificent room you'd expect in a plush, old fashioned hotel. Large, four poster bed with curtains and drapes. High windows that look out over the beautiful gardens at the back, lit in places by spotlights that highlight the wonderful colors of the flowers in magical, dream-like glows. There's a desk in the corner, and several chairs dotted here and there.

  “Right, here we are,” says Nigel, leading me in.

  He follows through into an adjoining, wonderfully fitted bathroom with separate bath and shower facilities.

  “I'll just go fetch some clothes for you Miss Grace. You'll find a fresh toothbrush, toothpaste, and various washing and sanitary products in the bathroom. There are fresh towels in the cupboard.”

  After a few minutes, which I spend inspecting a beautiful painting of a naval battle that looks something like a Turner, he's back. He passes me a bundle of clothes and bids me goodnight, before shutting the door tight.

  It's about midnight when I wrap myself up in the soft bed and gaze out of the window. I leave the curtains half open, with the silhouettes of trees visible in the distance and the light of the moon and stars creating a soft glow that filters into the room.

  It's silent here. The sort of silence that it almost unnerving when you're not used to it.

  Where I live in Queens, there's an almost endless rumble of cars outside. Even during the dead of night, when the world is meant to be sleeping, cars rush by intermittently, their engines roaring.

  Eventually, you get used to it, your brain adapting and filtering the noise out so that it doesn't disturb you, as if the general sounds of the city become a new sort of silence.

  But here, it's truly, deathly quiet. So quiet I notice the lightest ringing in my ears and the gentle pulse of my heart.

  And with that silence, I drift off to sleep.

  But my slumber doesn't last long. And despite the absolute silence, I don't hear the door to my room opening, the hinges creaking lightly. I don't hear the thud of footsteps, or the sound of steady breathing.

  The only thing I do hear, however, is the voice creeping toward me in the darkness. And when I open my eyes, I see the shadow, half lit by the moonlight, standing in the middle of the room.

  “Did I wake you?”

  Through the haze of my sleepy eyes I blink, my heart suddenly rushing, and see Tyler's form, adorned with nothing but a pair of tight briefs, the cold silver light of the moon bathing his muscles in a heavenly glow.

  “Tyler?” I croak, slightly alarmed.

  “I hope I didn't scare you?”

  “What...what are you doing here?”

  He takes a pace forward, then another, walking purposefully toward the bed.

  “You know what I'm doing here.”

  He sits down on the edge of the mattress, his toned body arching at the waist toward me. His eyes tell of a man with an salacious appetite that few others possess. And one that needs to be satisfied.

  I don't speak as his hand drifts toward my duvet and slowly, gently peels it off me as if he's unwrapping a gift.

  I don't do anything, still caught in a half dream, and entranced by his body, his shining hazel eyes, by the way he's looking at me.

  He reveals my body, dressed only in a simply white nightgown that Nigel had provided me. Underneath, I'm naked, never liking the feel of bras and panties as I sleep.

  He shifts his weight forward a bit more, and his hand rests on my leg. It slides up my shin, fingers spreading around the knee, and continues up my fleshy thigh.

  Still, I do nothing.

  His fingers press a little harder as he goes, his hand twisting and gliding up my inner thighs, closed tight together.

  He coaxes them apart, and I don't stop him. I just watch him, watch his eyes follow the path of his hand, watch them widen a little as the fabric of my gown is lifted and the V of my crotch revealed.

  My legs open a little, and his fingers find their way in. They tickle around my outer folds, teasing me as little darts of pleasure shoot through me. But his face lacks that grin from before. It seems to carry a deeper look of longing now, his focus unwavering.

  I watch the shape of his boxer shorts change, the front growing, the chained animal within starting to stiffen and stir. His fingers slide an inch inside me, working their way around my lips as I open my legs wider and feel the space moisten.

  And still, I say nothing.

  Now he's leaning even further in, gazing at my open pussy, climbing toward it with his mouth slightly open and his breathing beginning to intensify. His fingers slip deeper, still exploring every inch of my vagina, as his face continues its advance.

  I take a deep breath as his tongue finds my clit.

  Intense rumbles of pleasure pulse through me and my thighs squirm. His tongue works itself round and round, working in perfect unison with his fingers, his thumb, all probing and massaging and conspiring together to quickly bring me to orgasm.

  I find the sensation so strong that that's exactly what might happen if I don't stop him. But I don't want to. I want...need...him to keep going.

  My legs tighten and clench, my thighs closing around his head. Light groans begin to sound, squirting out of my clamped jaw as I try to suppress them.

  I can't.

  Not all of them. Squeals of joy ring around the room, and I have to bite hard on my fist to stop from screaming louder and waking up the entire mansion.

  The convulsions that hit me make me feel like I'm having a fit. Waves of them come, one after another, flowing through me, bursting out from my cunt. I bite harder on my fist, feel my teeth threatening to dig into my skin, and pray for the sensation to both pass and keep on going at the same time.

  Gradually the waters recede, and the pulses weaken, and my taut muscles relax and drop down onto the bed.

  And all Tyler does it lift his head and look at me from behind smiling eyes.

  “Fake that one too, did you?”

  Chapter Three

  Tyler left my room that night straight after, leaving me reeling and wondering what exactly had just happened.

  He didn't get me to reciprocate, or climb on top and fuck me like he did the night before. He just stood, his underwear bulging, and left me in peace, a silence quickly dawning once again.

  It took me a while to get to sleep, my body still rushing with the thrill of his fingers and tongue. My mind could hardly stay still, but was eventually downed by exhaustion,
leaving me at the mercy of my unconscious mind which felt it necessary to replay the entire event over and over until I woke to the light of the morning.

  Now I'm lying down and I can feel a wetness between my thighs, my body clearly reacting to the impure thoughts of my mind, even in sleep.

  I turn and look outside and see that the world is once more sunny and bright. There's a chatter of birds in the air and, away to the left of the trees, I can see the lake sparkling with a thousand tiny waves, rippling and catching the light.

  With my cell informing me that it's 9 AM, I quickly take a shower and wash my inner thighs clean before dressing in the clothes Nigel gave me. They don't fit – not perfectly – but are passable and comfortable enough for me to lounge around in at least.

  A strange feeling of nerves fills me as I leave the room. Last night everything took on a funny shape, my blood poisoned by alcohol and my head intoxicated by the wonders of the mansion and the surrounding grounds.

  Now, in the warm light of the warming, everything seems a little clearer and more in focus, as if I've just gone from DVD to BluRay.

  Most of all, however, I'm attacked by a pervading sense of guilt and shame at what happened when Tyler entered my room. During the entire time he was there – which wasn't actually much longer than 10 minutes – I didn't say a word.

  I just let him explore my body until he was satisfied and brought me to a simply fantastic orgasm. In fact, I wonder if he'd just done it to prove a point? To show me that he could make me come with little more than a click of his fingers.

  What's most unnerving, however, is the power he clearly has over my sexual needs. He holds the key to my lock and I'm powerless to stop him from opening it.

  I shake such thoughts from my head as I descend the stairs, the mansion alive with activity as maids rush here and there. Nigel passes by, stopping at the bottom of the stairs to tell me that my mother and Mr Black are just starting breakfast out in the rear courtyard outside the building.

  I follow the same route as yesterday and appear outside in the warm summer sunshine to find Stephen's mouth locked to my mom's.

  He stops, immediately, as I walk out, and almost looks abashed for the first time.