Her Young Millionaire Lover

by K S Augustin

  He smiled and she could see it in its entirety this time—the way the expression lit his dark eyes, the flash of white teeth, and the cute dimple in his right cheek.

  “Usually women are falling over themselves to get to know me,” he remarked a little ruefully.

  “That's not the way I operate.” Not tonight, at least.

  His voice was dry. “So I see. In that case, could a suitably chastened evening partner offer you a glass of champagne?”

  Evening partner. Sophie liked the sound of that. She looked around and spied a low, wide armchair that was almost broad enough to seat two people. She walked over to it and settled herself into its upholstery with a sigh.

  “Why not?”

  He was amused by her, she could tell by the sideways glances he threw her while he opened a bottle of vintage bubbly in the sleekly black open-plan kitchenette before pouring part of its liquid contents into two narrow flutes. Resting the half-empty bottle in a silver ice bucket, he loaded all the items onto a tray and brought them into the living room.

  “So,” he said, after offering her a glass and sitting himself in an opposite chair, “this is the first of Arnold's balls you've attended, and you don't want to know my name. In my experience, that's highly unusual. Combine that with a candour that I find refreshing, and it's a combination I wouldn't have believed possible in Singapore.”

  “Too used to getting your own way, are you?” Sophie asked, sipping at her ice-cold drink. The bubbles danced on her tongue and all the way down her throat as she swallowed.

  He chuckled and the warmth of the sound seemed to envelop Sophie in a cloud of softness. She was trying to be her acerbic best—Sophie the contrarian—but it was becoming increasingly difficult in the presence of this charming and good-humoured man.

  “I think,” he said, “sometimes I am.”

  And that made her want to take back her earlier statement and ask about his occupation. He certainly had the polish of a corporate high-flyer, but there was a vein of modesty running through his words that was unusual in such a person. What did he do?

  “But,” he said with a humorous tilt of his eyebrows, “enough about me. What about you? Have you lived in Singapore for long?”

  Sophie remembered the years with Tim in the hot, muggy city-state. The struggle to draw a cool breath in the outside air until she acclimatised. Her dismay at having her make-up evaporate off her face within minutes of stepping out of a taxi, until she grew satisfied with the barest hint of blusher and eyeliner. She thought of the past few years, filled with friends and the wide vistas of retail therapy that Singapore offered...and yet strangely empty.

  “I've been here for a number of years,” she finally told him. “I work at a business academy.”

  “And do you like your job?”

  It was nice that the first question out of his mouth wasn't whether it paid well, but whether she enjoyed it.

  “I do,” she said and couldn't avoid the smile that accompanied the statement. She still had her mask on and was happy to hide behind it for the time being. It made her feel...naughty.

  He drained the rest of his glass in one swallow, stood up and walked over to her. Sophie's heart began pounding. She heard its accelerated thumps reverberating behind her disguise.

  When he eased himself onto the edge of the wide chair next to her, she had time to notice the fine weave of his suit and the spicy, faintly vanilla scent of his perfume, before he dipped his head and kissed her.

  It must have been a difficult position for him, trying to negotiate under the lip of her rigid mask, but that didn't stop him. His lips, when they met hers, were firm and warm. And, suddenly, Sophie couldn't get enough. His masculine heat called to something deep within her, something that had been dormant for years, and her body couldn't help but respond.

  She pulled back from him and ripped the mask from her face. There was a slight burn along her cheekbones from the friction of the hard material against her skin as she tore it away, but she didn't care. All she wanted to do was get closer to this magnificent, exotic stranger and spend the night exploring every inch of his body.

  With frantic hands, she grabbed his face and kissed him.

  Adrian fell back against the chair, surprised by the ardour of the woman in his arms. Beneath his fingers, her shoulders felt cool and firm.

  From the moment he'd spied her from the far corner of the ballroom, he'd known there was something special beneath the sequined mask. There was a poise, an artlessness that attracted him. And so he had watched her for a little while before wending his way over to where she stood.

  She was alone, but she was composed. Unconcerned. Majestic. That attitude alone was such a change from the coy helplessness that usually confronted him. In fact, it intrigued him.

  Yet, there was also a hint of vulnerability. He had followed several of her gazes towards other groups of revellers. Was she wistful? Did she wish she looked like the young, sleek women present? If she had only asked, he would've been happy to tell her that youth and constant giggles weren't attractive. Silent strength was more beguiling, a trait she appeared to have in abundance.

  Adrian parted his mystery woman's mouth and plunged his tongue deep into her moist cavern. She moaned against his lips and, moving swiftly yet still with their mouths attached, straddled him. For a moment, her fingers pressed against his heated cheeks before they began tearing away at his clothing. Suddenly, that seemed the best idea either of them had had all evening. He joined in the fun, pulling at the ridiculous sleeves of her costume until they rested in burgundy puffs at her waist. He hesitated only long enough to admire the wisps of black lace that barely covered two globes of creamy flesh, then bent his head and kissed one, leaving a trail of light touches—mouth against breast—as he moved his lips lower. Opening his mouth, he sucked in a puckered pink nipple and tried not to grin as a throaty female groan filled the air.

  She was alive under his touch, a writhing handful—no, make that two!—of feminine flesh. Hands tugged at his trousers, undoing his belt and zipper with delicious haste, and he levered himself up for a second so she could slip his trousers off his body. He did his best to help things along by kicking off his shoes, then it occurred to him that both of them were not in the most comfortable of positions. Metres away, a gigantic master bedroom beckoned. Comfort, luxury, yet here they were like teenagers caught in a parents' living room, scrabbling at each other as if there was no tomorrow.

  With reluctance, Adrian let the hot nub of flesh slip from his mouth. I'll be getting back to you later, he promised. A pair of searing lips caught his and he froze, unable to resist a quick delve into her heat and the carnal promise contained within it.

  He was panting when he finally managed to pull away.

  “The bedroom,” he gasped.

  Her eyes were glazed with passion, but she seemed to understand and it wasn't long before the path to that room was strewn with clothing. By the time they reached the doorway, both of them were naked.

  His mysterious lover pushed him against the door jamb, and Adrian felt the chill of the painted wood at his back. Her gaze roamed up and down his body, from the tip of his hair down to his toes. He tried to keep himself in shape, inwardly cursing now for every day he managed to find an excuse to avoid the gym. Did she like what she saw? He may be in his thirties, but he still looked buffed and virile...didn't he? He tried hard not to suck in his stomach as she raked his figure for a second time.

  If he were honest, he had to admit doing the same thing. In the subdued lighting, her pale skin glowed. Her breasts, large and round, moved with each breath she took. Her body nicked in at her waist before expanding into luscious curves that made him want to do nothing more than bury himself in their fullness. There was something so voluptuous, so intrinsically female about her, that Adrian felt his hardened dick bob against his abdomen in agreement.

  “You're gorgeous,” she told him with a husky purr, running a finger down his chest.

  “So are
you,” he replied. And meant it. Then, with a quick grin, he picked her up and carried her to the bed. “Let's enjoy ourselves.”

  Sophie had been hoping for some fun from the evening. If she were honest with herself, even though she had attended the ball with the ultimate fantasy of leaving with someone, she had really only expected some mild flirting, perhaps leading to a date within the next week or so.

  What she had not expected to find was a pair of roguish chocolate eyes, a voice that could melt the coldest ice, and a trim, taut, younger body as eager to get as close to her as she was to get close to it.

  There was a moment of exhilarating weightlessness as she was carried through the master bedroom—when was the last time that had ever happened? Had Tim ever held her with such care?—and lowered onto cool sheets on a mattress that appeared to be the size of a tennis court.

  Naked and up close, her mystery man was as delectable as when sheathed in a tailor-made suit. His skin segued from milky coffee to burnt sugar in the subdued lighting from the two bedside lamps, the illumination playing over his muscled form. His body, hard and flat over his hairless chest, shadowed again as it licked against a small line of dark down that began at his belly button and enticed her gaze down. She caught her breath at the proudly erect cock that seemed to stare back at her, its head tight and purple as if straining to get closer to her. My God, but she had never wanted a dick inside her as much as she wanted this one!

  She even said the words out loud. “I want...,” and groaned when he dipped his head to take an engorged nipple back into his mouth. She grasped at him, his hair like hot silk parting under her trembling fingers. She felt moisture pool in her sex, her pussy throbbing as it demanded that something fill her slick receptacle. Her breasts seemed instantly, intimately, connected to every nerve ending in her body. Every lick from his broad tongue, every nip from his sharp, white teeth sent shockwaves of pure delight shuddering through her, jolting her with its own chaotic and erotic rhythm.

  He started pinching her other nipple with his long, capable fingers and Sophie groaned again.

  “Yes,” she gasped, “harder. I like it harder.”

  She closed her eyes and arched her neck so the muscles in her throat were taut, her chest pushing forward so he could continue defiling them with that sinfully skilful mouth of his and those clever, torturing fingers. He kneaded her flesh, squeezing one breast in a strong hand, pinching and pulling at her while biting and sucking voraciously on the other, until she was sure her upper torso was pink from friction. And arousal.

  Just as she took a breath, he pulled away and, a second later, Sophie felt something soft shoved under her backside.

  “I want to ravish you,” a dark voice told her. “I want to hear you shout with delight and fill this room with the screams of your orgasm when I make you come.”

  Sophie didn't doubt for a moment that he could do it. Just hearing him utter those words was enough to start her along the spiral of a climax. If ever there was a voice that, by itself, could send a woman to the peak of pleasure, it was his voice. She felt both his hands hold and squeeze her breasts, then they were raking down the side of her body, clutching her buttocks, and there wasn't anything she wanted to do more than lift her hips and offer herself, knees bent, legs open wide, to his mouth. To his cock. To himself.

  Chapter Four

  Now that he was obviously aware that she didn't like the gentle and too-sensitive approach to sex, Sophie wondered how her mysterious, exotic lover would react. Would he be put off by her brazenness? After all, sometimes she felt that Tim had been a bit anxious in the bedroom, as if afraid she would rip a gobbet of flesh from his body in the throes of passion.

  She needn't have worried. The hands that gripped her and kept her legs apart were confident and sure. And they were still there, indicating that she hadn't frightened him off. Sophie would've let out a sigh of relief, except he wasn't giving her the chance.

  His cocksure fingers were exploring again, parting her outer lips with a casual roughness that sent stabs of sensation zinging through her. A fingertip flicked against her clitoris and she felt it swell and harden at his touch, knew the slippery feeling was her own juices coating her sex and heightening her pleasure. She wanted to bury her hands into the silk of his hair again but didn't want to hamper his movements. Tonight was all about losing herself in sensation, losing herself to the moment. She opened her legs as far as they could go and clutched at the snowy-white bedsheets with eager hands. Waiting for his attack.

  And he didn't disappoint. She felt his tongue licking at the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs, leaving trails of saliva then blowing on them, sending shivers of cold warring with hot, carnal anticipation. She shifted, trying to tell him with her body that she was ready for more, but he seemed content taking his time.

  Then, just when Sophie thought she would burst from frustration, he parted her labia and began nibbling on her swollen and erect clitoris. He used his lips, his tongue, his teeth. He grazed at her tender, arousal-drenched flesh with sharp nips, and shudders racked her body with each draw of that hardness against her sheathed nub.

  She wanted to draw it out, to teeter on the precipice of orgasm, feeling the coils of pleasure build within her and yet deny them in the build-up to an even bigger climax.

  She couldn't. It had been too long since she'd felt another's hands, lips and body on hers. Sophie took a deep, quivering breath and cried out into the bedroom as the convulsions of a climax possessed her. Her fingers spasmed against the bunched up sheets as her body shook and, amid the waves of delicious pleasure that coursed through her, she felt his hands against her hips, holding her steady, as his mouth continued to ravage her.

  “No,” she finally gasped, as the feelings that convulsed her began turning to pain. Her hands fluttered close to where his head should be and encountered the silkiness of his hair. She pushed. “It's, too much. Please!”

  Slowly, she felt his head lift and the onslaught of sensation tamped down to a bearable throb. Sophie felt wrung out...and completely alive. She lifted her own head and smiled at him.

  “That was,” she told him with a raised eyebrow and with a small gasp, “wonderful.”

  He chuckled and moved swiftly up the bed so he could see her close up, face to face. Still not saying a word, he kissed her as hard and as deep as he had kissed her sex. The aroma of her arousal spun in the air between them and Sophie breathed in deep, the thought of her own intimate scent on his man's skin exciting her for a second time.

  “I like responsive women,” he whispered, “and you are very responsive.”

  She smiled. “I aim to please.” And wrapped her arms around his neck.

  “I want you to fuck me,” she told him, looking directly into his dark eyes. “Hard and fast. That's just what I'm in the mood for.”

  Without breaking her embrace, he reached across to the bedside table and coaxed open a drawer. Sophie didn't need to hear the characteristic rustle of plastic foil to know what he was doing. With a wicked smile, she ground her hips against his, closing her legs on his erection, cupping it between her soft thighs.

  Her mystery lover groaned before lifting himself free and expertly rolling the condom onto his cock. Then he was back, landing with an enthusiastic thump right next to her. Resting on his left elbow, he stroked his right hand down her body, cupping her buttock and squeezing it as he lifted it slightly into position. Sophie felt a bit of resistance at the entrance to her sex, then he thrust himself inside her and she almost purred with delight.

  She hadn't realised how much she had missed the feel of a man inside her. Of course she had some toys, but it wasn't the same. Playing with a vibrator, while it filled her emptiness with pleasant thrumming, was like waltzing in front of a mirror. The action was still guided by only one person—herself. Having sex with someone else, however, was like a wonderful, exhausting tango, both partners moving, tugging, and pushing at each other. Both of them trying to anticipate the wishes of their partn
er while pleasing themselves in the process. It was the most primal, pleasurable and selfish of all human interactions.

  Sophie felt his hard cock slide in and out of her, each plunge rubbing against her, forcing a reaction from her body. She closed her eyes as he pistoned his body and felt the firm resilience of his moving flesh as her fingernails dug into his buttocks. As she felt the ratcheting tension in his body, she moved a hand between them, opening the outer lips of her sex so her clitoris could rub against his wiry pubic hair. When he came, with a loud shout of surprised pleasure, she wasn't far behind, continuing to rock and chafe against him until an orgasm gripped her as well and she spasmed around his ejecting stiffness.

  A drop of sweat, hot and salty, landed near her lips and she darted out her tongue to taste it before opening her eyes again. Her lover looked sated and satisfied.

  “We never did get around to even exchanging first names,” he said, an impish tilt to his lips.

  Sophie grinned. “Sophie.”

  He nodded, turning it into a quick and thorough kiss on the downward swoop. “Adrian. Thank you,” he said, that devilish light still in his eyes, “for coming.”

  She dimpled. “Thank you for having me.”

  Sometime during the long and adventurous night, Adrian had risen to pull together the curtains in the bedroom, but he hadn't fully succeeded. A thin shaft of light illuminated Sophie's face as she lay on the bed, rousing her from sleep. She lifted her head, her lids still heavy from the night's exertions and blinked her eyes several times, trying to focus on the ultra-modern cube that masqueraded as an alarm clock on one of the bedside tables.

  6:40.

  That meant morning. With the light streaming in from outside, and the early tropical sunset hours, it had to be morning, although Sophie wouldn't have been surprised if she'd managed to sleep through an entire day. She moved and had to stifle a groan. Oh my, she had aches where she didn't even know aches could exist!