Her Young Millionaire Lover

by K S Augustin

  Before she had time to comment that she was thirsty, and getting hungry, Adrian led her back to one of the restaurants they had passed earlier and ordered a plate of appetisers and tall glasses of hot mint tea. When the drinks arrived, filled to the brim with fat leaves of green mint, he had a further, whispered conversation with the young serving boy and sat back, obviously satisfied with himself.

  It had been a hot and chaotic handful of hours, and Sophie had enjoyed every minute of it. She had oohed over the leather handwork like a newly-landed tourist and lovingly stroked the pelt-like weave of the rugs. Adrian had said very little, enabling her to drink in the atmosphere of the street as she saw fit, but as unobtrusive as he made himself, Sophie couldn't help but be constantly aware of his presence. It was the hand at her elbow that helped negotiate the traffic, and the scent of him that assailed her nostrils as a puff of air below across him. Each second of awareness plunged her back to the evening at the ball, to the crisp sheets they had both rumpled and the passion they had both assuaged.

  A large plate full of Arabian appetisers was set on their table, followed by the serving boy holding a tall pipe-like instrument. With practised movements, he set the contraption on the floor and began spooning a thick, clumpy dark mix into a ceramic dish which he then covered with aluminium foil, poking a few holes in it with a short skewer he held.

  “Is that,” Sophie paused while she watched small blocks of glowing red charcoal being placed on top of the foil, “a hookah?”

  It was like something out of a Lewis Carroll book and she was frowning at the same time as a smile curved her lips. She supposed she must have looked like a complete idiot as the young waiter put a flexible, multi-coloured hose into her hand, before bowing slightly and leaving them.

  “A waterpipe,” Adrian agreed. “Hookah in Hindi, ' shisha ' in Arabic, but it's the same thing. Have you ever tried one?”

  “Er, no.”

  “I ordered apple-flavoured tobacco.”

  She stared at the hose then at him. “Apple? In tobacco?” Thus proving, she thought to herself, what a neophyte she was when it came to anything associated with smoking.

  “The shisha tobacco also contains molasses and fruit flavouring.” Adrian took a puff from his pipe and Sophie heard the burble of water from the waterpipe's glass container. “The tobacco smoke gets pulled into the water bowl at the bottom—I told them to add some ice to the water, since I didn't think you would have had a shisha before—and gets drawn up into the hose.”

  “And the ice is supposed to cool the smoke down?” she surmised.

  He grinned. “Exactly. I'm not a smoker by nature but I do like indulging in a shisha occasionally. It's a nice way to relax.”

  To relax. Okay, that was definitely a good idea, because all Sophie could think about, with Adrian sitting opposite her, was when she'd be able to rip his clothes off and do the things she'd fantasised about for the past two weeks. But this was something new, and it might take her mind off her carnal thoughts.

  “So I take a deep breath?” she asked.

  “Maybe not too deep,” he cautioned, taking a puff himself. The scent of sweet green apples drifted across to her. “Especially as this is your first time.”

  Right. First time sleeping with a younger man. First time smoking fruit-infused tobacco. Sophie lifted the hose to her mouth and breathed in.

  There was a bit of resistance as the smoke moved through the cold water, then it flew over her tongue and down into her throat, where she felt something crisp and fruity before the roughness of the tobacco scraped her throat. No matter how cool the smoke was, it clawed at the inside of her with sharp little skewers. She coughed up all the smoke and bent over, her body spasming.

  “Oh no,” she gasped. “I,” cough, “am”, cough, “not used,” wheeze, “to this.”

  With frantic fingers, she grasped at her drink and downed a large gulp of tea. Gradually, her coughing subsided, but her eyes still watered. She stared at his laughing face accusingly. “How could you do this to me?”

  He continued laughing, completely unrepentant. “I thought it would be some fun, Sophie.” He sobered, but there was still a glint in his eyes. “It occurred to me that you haven't had much fun in your life recently.”

  She put the hose down and reached for a piece of seasoned, tender lamb mince. The grilled morsel of meat melted in her mouth, taking away some of the friction left behind from the shisha smoke. “And how would you know what I've had in my life?” she asked, archly. “In fact, how did you even find out where I worked?”

  He refused to be cowed by either her expression or her tone of voice.

  “It took a bit of doing, but it was mostly legwork,” he admitted, his voice easy. “I think I mentioned that the organiser of that event is a friend of mine?”

  She nodded, remembering the name. Arnold.

  “I asked him to find out how many foreign women were invited to the event. It ended up being a little more difficult in your case because your invitation came via a firm, rather than in person, as I found out later.”

  That would be George Chua's cheerful interference. She nodded again.

  “But I finally got it narrowed down to three companies. From there it was an easy task to find out if there were any women by the name of Sophie working at any of them. Bingo! Your business academy. My only regret was that it took almost two weeks to get that far.”

  She tried to imagine the amount of “legwork” involved, so trivially summarised by him. “Just like that?”

  He smiled. “My assistants are very good at what they do.”

  And what was that, she wondered, besides tracking down women who slipped out of their employer's bed at the crack of dawn? Did such things happen often? She looked at his chiselled features, smooth skin and high cheekbones. At the perfect arch of his eyebrows and the deep, melting chocolate of his eyes. Of course women would fall over themselves for the opportunity to crawl into his bed. A thick skewer of jealousy stabbed Sophie's heart.

  “Where to now?” she asked, this time choosing a wedge of grilled, marinated eggplant from the platter.

  Was she asking what they were going to do next, or where this whole... relationship seemed too strong a word, considering the small amount of time they'd spent together...was leading? Sophie wasn't quite sure herself which interpretation she meant.

  “I thought I'd take you to see my house,” he said carefully, watching her face.

  “But I thought...” She frowned. “Weren't you just visiting Singapore?”

  After all, wasn't that why he had taken a hotel room?

  “No, I live here. But I was having some renovation work done and I didn't want to be in the house with all that noise and dust around.”

  “Oh.”

  “Would you like to see it? My place?”

  It only required a simple one-syllable answer, yet Sophie had the strangest feeling that she was about to take a far bigger step into something a lot deeper than that one word warranted. Adrian looked relaxed but there was something watchful and alert about him, as if he half-dreaded her answer. Sophie almost laughed at the thought. Why a vibrant, handsome, and obviously successful man, such as himself, would exhibit any kind of nervousness in her presence was beyond her.

  “I'd love to,” she told him. And she meant it.

  Chapter Seven

  Sophie was expecting to see a house that was sleek and modern, and she wasn't disappointed. At the end of a short curved driveway, behind a tall iron fence hedged with green shrubs, a two-storey, flat-roofed house dominated the space on top of a small hill.

  She and Adrian walked up the shallow stone steps that ran parallel to a water feature that ended at the front door. The quiet sound of liquid tripping over large pebbles embedded in the watercourse was soothing and surprisingly loud, considering they were less than a five-minute drive from the shopping epicentre of Singapore, Orchard Road.

  “Welcome to my home,” Adrian said, beckoning her in.

 
; It was a lovely house—airy, white, and spacious. From the foyer, Sophie stepped down into an expansive living room, encased on two sides with clear glass that ran from the ground up to the roofline. Yet, for all its simple majesty, it looked...empty.

  “It's very beautiful,” she finally said.

  “Unfortunately, I haven't been able to spend as much time here as I've wanted. Work,” he explained.

  Sophie licked her lips. She didn't want to ask what he did for a living. For some reason, she felt that uttering the question would mean a further step along a path she felt reluctant to take. Wasn't she just after some fun? Some mindless sex? Why did Adrian seem to imbue every statement with significance, as if there was something more going on? She didn't want that, especially not with a younger man.

  “You must be very successful in whatever you're doing.”

  Adrian laughed and led her to the kitchen, which was another minimalist work of art represented by stainless steel appliances and glossy dark countertops.

  “Do you know why I'm so attracted to you?” he asked, after pouring them two glasses of mango juice. It was the tropical equivalent of orange juice, and a substitute Sophie had eagerly embraced. Then his words penetrated. He actually said he was attracted to her!

  She took a sip of the thick, quenching liquid. “Why?”

  “Because you approach things so differently.” He leant back against the counter and, crossing one ankle over another, regarded her with a tilted head, his expression quizzical. “Have you asked me what I do for a living? No. How much I earn? No. Asked me to buy you something?” He shook his head. “And yet, didn't we also have some of the most mind-blowing sex I've had in my life?”

  He put his drink down and walked over to her, taking the glass from her nerveless fingers and placing it carefully down on the counter beside her.

  “At least, that's how it was for me.” He nuzzled her ear. “How was it for you?”

  Sophie tried dragging air into her lungs, but it was a difficult task. “The same,” she gasped.

  “I'm wondering if a repeat performance can live up to the initial act.”

  “I...do you think...” She inhaled. “Let's give it a try.”

  She had wanted to be good, had tried to concentrate on merely enjoying the company of a man and of exploring a part of the city she hadn't visited before. Tried not to harbour any unrealistic expectations. But the moment Adrian's lips met hers again, her best intentions flew straight out of her mind. She ran her fevered hands over his body, skimming the hardness under the soft cloth of his shirt, and the pleasing roughness of his trousers. He had a firm and pert backside, and she dug her fingers into them, pushing him against her groin and moaning as his erection heated her belly.

  They twirled inexpertly out of the kitchen—Sophie thought she heard some bangs and crashes, but that was happening in another universe—and fell into the living room.

  Adrian broke contact with her lips briefly as he scanned the room, then guided them to the sofa, his body pushing against hers. Before they had taken the handful of steps to reach the soft padding, Sophie had his shirt off and was running her hands over his chest, revelling in the delicious contrast of stiff masculine hair and smooth caramel skin.

  “You feel amazing,,” she murmured against his mouth, moaning as he cupped her breasts under the red tank-top. Her white shirt had somehow disappeared, she didn't know where or when. What's more, she didn't care.

  He shook his head slowly, using the movement to plant small kisses on her cheeks before capturing her lips again in a long, drugging kiss.

  Sophie closed her eyes, using her other senses to guide her. She felt the rough texture of the chair covering at her back, the thick springiness of the rug beneath her feet, and the fevered insistence of his hands against her body, shifting her trousers off her legs and working her arms out of the thin straps of her top as his tongue roamed the inside of her mouth in intimate and erotic discovery.

  When he paused, again, to lift the camisole from her so she'd be completely exposed to his gaze, she pressed her advantage by pushing him to the floor and straddling him.

  “You're a beautiful man,” she said, running fingers over his shoulders and chest. His dark nipples were erect, awaiting attention from her, but she ignored them, stroking her hand down his abdomen where the soft arrow of hair led. His cock was a luscious brown with a velvet-folded sheath surrounding a tight purple helmet. Sophie licked her lips as she felt its satin hardness and stroked its length, sliding the foreskin so it almost engulfed the engorged head before pulling it back. Beneath her hips, Adrian's body bucked, and a small bead of clear lubrication formed at the tip of his dick, poised perfectly above his slit.

  It was an invitation and a promise, one Sophie wasn't about to ignore. Shifting back and bending down, she took him into her mouth, letting the thick salty drop slide along the roof of her mouth, its slickness mixing with her saliva. She breathed in the scent of his sex, earthy and enveloping, and felt herself get wet, his aroma bypassing her rational brain and zapping straight into the female, animal part of her.

  Holding the base of his cock with one hand, putting tension on his skin, she sucked on the head. His hands, strong yet trembling, gripped her hair, guiding her rhythm as he groaned his increasing pleasure, lifting his hips in a complementary, shuddering dance. Sophie felt a bolt of power course through her as she registered how much power she held. She could decide whether to slow things down or speed them up. She could suck harder or withdraw completely, and just lick him from stem to head. She could even decide whether to push him to a quaking orgasm or keep him on the edge, enveloping or withdrawing at will.

  A groan emerged from deep inside his body, carnal male surrender, and Sophie couldn't hold herself back any longer. Moving her free hand to her own groin, she felt her wetness and, after a long suck on his organ, straddled his hips, lowering herself onto him.

  It was day, they were in a room showered with light, and Sophie couldn't hide herself from his sight, but she didn't care. A wild ardour had her in its grip and she wanted to ride it to climax.

  Adrian held her breasts in his hands, warm and supportive, running his thumbs over her engorged nipples. Sophie reacted by clenching against him and he closed his eyes as a spasm gripped his body. Then she rode him, starting slow and deep, quickening with him as she heard the tenor of his breathing change. His hands locked on her hips. She leant forward and moved faster, rubbing her sex against the crinkly hair of his groin, feeling the friction engorge and stimulate her clitoris.

  When he came, he shouted with surprise, but Sophie was merciless. She kept bucking atop him until she, too, was engulfed in the sweet waves of climax, throwing her head back while primal exhilaration shook her body. She could have stayed this way forever, feeding off the orgasmic crests that drowned her in sensation. Finally, perspiration anointing her body, she laboured to an exhausted rest, slanting a tired smile at her supine lover.

  “That was wonderful,” she murmured.

  “You were wonderful,” he told her, his chest heaving with the deep breaths he was taking.

  Happy, she collapsed against him.

  Later, as they nestled in his bed, he kissed her lightly on her head.

  “We've done everything wrong, haven't we?” He chuckled. “We fell into bed with each other before exchanging names. We haven't compared reading or music tastes. We had our first meal together two weeks after sex.”

  Put like that, it sounded more than a little shameless. Sophie shifted uncomfortably but didn't pull out of his arms. She was too comfortable, felt too cherished, to do that.

  Adrian sighed. “If my parents knew how I'd treated you, they'd skin me alive.”

  She pushed at his chest, looking into his eyes. “It was a mutual decision, you know,” she argued.

  He kissed her. “I know. And that's something else I like about you. You don't let yourself get pushed around. You're stronger than you think, Sophie Ogden.” His voice lowered to a whisper.
“In fact, you're exactly the kind of woman I've been looking for.”

  Sophie should have been thrilled, but the shiver dancing up her spine was more fear than delight.

  “I don't understand.”

  His tone became more business-like. “What are you doing for Christmas?”

  While she was still trying to think of an answer—in truth, she hadn't been planning anything, and didn't that sound more than a little sad?—he continued.

  “How about going away with me for the break? Would you like to spend Christmas and New Year in Hong Kong? It's a bit of a business trip,” he warned, “but there'll be plenty of free time for us as well.”

  She'd never been to Hong Kong. That had been one trip she and Tim had often spoken about, but never done anything about.

  He stroked her bare shoulder, sending trembles of anticipation through her body. “We could stop for a couple of days in Bangkok on the way back.”

  And, suddenly, it was all so overwhelming. What was he doing, making these kinds of suggestions to her? Didn't he know how much older she was than him? Surely his friends would laugh if they saw them together. Was he toying with her? Saying the sweetest, most wonderful things because of some practical joke? Once more, there didn't seem to be enough air in the room, but this time it was suffocating rather than invigorating.

  She got out of bed, heedless of her nakedness, and started searching frantically for her clothes.

  “I'm sorry,” she said, deliberately not looking at him. “I think maybe you got the wrong idea.”

  “Wrong idea?” She didn't need to see him to know he was hurt. It was obvious from his voice. “Sophie, what's the matter? Did I say something to offend you?”