BILLIONAIRE (Part 2) Read online

  BILLIONAIRE

  Part 2

  by Juliette Jones

  Copyright © 2013 Juliette Jones

  All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced, distributed or scanned in any electronic or printed form without permission.

  BILLIONAIRE is a work of fiction. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.

  Cover art photo used under license from Shutterstock.com

  First Edition: March 2013

  BILLIONAIRE (Part 2)

  Lila

  It was more powerful than reason, whatever it was that was happening to me. I might have lost my mind completely. I’d just had unprotected sex – six times – with a man I’d known for exactly … one day.

  And he was still inside me.

  We had not left his apartment all morning. We’d slept in blissful post-coital dozes. He’d fed me bites of chocolate and fruit. We’d showered twice. And we’d hardly disengaged. Throughout, barely a moment had passed when his body was not somehow connected to some part of mine. The stroke of his tantalizing tongue. His clever, insistent mouth, tasting every inch of me. The warm comfort of his big, hard body sliding over mine, thrusting into me, so deep, so deliciously deep …

  What astounded me most was the total abandon of it all. The way I had thrown away ten million perfectly good years of evolution and reverted to a mess of primeval need the minute I’d laid eyes on Alexander Wolfe. Forget the fifteen or so years of top-notch education, the Ivy League degree, the modernistic caution that comes from layer upon layer of twenty-first century knowledge. For this man I had willingly stripped bare and thrown myself at him with all the subtlety of a female primate whose species was about to go extinct. If I’d been in a more boisterous state of mind, I might have laughed at the sheer political incorrectness of my impromptu tryst. I almost mentally apologized to Erica Jong and all the seventies feminists for throwing away four decades of hard work. Here I was, happily impaled by my brand new boss who was now also, very definitely, my intensely obsessive new lover. I half-expected the Mad Men production crew to be gathered in the corner, cameras rolling.

  I was returning to myself, still floating in a haze of superstrength endorphins, after having just experienced the most mind-numbingly powerful orgasm of my life. It was true I hadn’t had that many orgasms, before. Before Alexander. Not at all. Since I’d walked into his office yesterday afternoon, however, my tally was escalating at an alarming rate. Which was only going to increase by at least one, I had a feeling, before Alexander even thought about pulling out. He was still fully, massively aroused. My body was clasped tightly around the impossible thickness of him, moistly locked and still pulsing with the ebbing ripples of my release. But he had held on, just barely. And I had let him.

  I knew by now that I could make him come if I wanted to. If I worked him and dug my fingernails into him. If I rocked my hips against him just so as I wrapped my legs around him, prohibiting any retreat. I had a feminine power over him that was satisfying beyond belief. Alexander, for all his alpha bravado, was entirely at the mercy of my teasing lips, my naked breasts, my snug, squeezing pussy.

  That he simply could not resist me was as obvious as it was arousing. This realization had unleashed my sexuality in full force. My former self – the one who had walked into Alexander’s office only yesterday – had been like a meek, caged caterpillar confined to its chrysalis. That very first sight of Alexander Wolfe had somehow broken me open. That image of his outrageous, swarthy beauty, so intrigued by me, so receptive and so turned on, had set the butterfly of my sensuality not only free but sky high and with a zealous desire to feed. That look in his eyes as he’d seen me, licking his lips at the sight of my blooming, slippery sex, so ready for him, had unleashed a wild thing. I was awakened, and I was hungry.

  Not only that but I was greedy. I had learned that the second orgasm – and third – of any particular sequence were equally delicious to the first, and differently so: the ecstatic spasms were longer, less earth-shattering but silky and deep, exquisitely luxurious.

  I wanted to come again.

  I’d had no choice but to cling to him as my body rocked and writhed against him with the force of my first climax. But aside from the insanely voluptuous clenching of my slick pussy around his big, rock-hard cock, I’d kept myself relatively calm and submissive.

  But I had other plans now.

  We were lying side by side, as close as that position would allow. My leg was hitched over his hip and he held my thigh with one of his strong, warm hands. My breasts were pressed lightly against the broad, hair-roughened plane of his chest. Our heads rested on his ridiculously plush pillows and his face was close to mine.

  His face. Stunningly gorgeous, candidly divine. Not perfect but somehow perfectly assembled. The black eyes, as I watched him stare back at me, were not black at all but instead a very dark shade of brown. I could see from this close angle and in the stillness of the moment inflections of rich auburn in his irises, which glowed with a lusty vividness. His nose had been broken at some point; there was a tiny imperfection to the line at the bridge and an almost-undetectable scar that added somehow to his piratical manliness. His too-long hair was disheveled and curled around his ears, heightening the effect.

  It was his mouth that killed me. Full and sensuous, plumply pink-red like the skin of a ripening plum, promising all manner of wicked, wanton pleasure. The sight of those lips unfurled something in me: an aching, obsessive need. Some kind of flood gate had opened in me. I felt ravenous and wild, madly covetous. My mouth wanted to eat him as my pussy consumed him.

  Each move I made seemed not only fierce but skillful. I was new at this, but I felt like I’d found my calling. When it came to having sex with Alexander Wolfe, I was a natural. Already, I knew exactly how to drive him and appreciate him. My body felt entirely attuned to his lust. My hands and my mouth and my sex wanted to tease him and please him, to coax his pleasure to the highest heights, to make him come as hard as it was possible to do.

  I pushed him onto his back so I was sitting astride him. I leaned over him, rubbing my breasts softly against his chest. The light pelt of his chest hair gently abraded my tender nipples. I kissed him, sucking on his lips, licking between them, drawing his tongue into my mouth. My back was arched and my knees spread wide as I straddled his body. His hands were on my ass, squeezing in lustful handfuls, spreading me and exploring indecently.

  I began to move myself along the length of his deeply-insinuated cock, which was slick with the honeyed juices of my previous climax. The combination of his massive thickness and the slippery friction was somehow so beautiful I almost felt emotional about it. This power and this intimacy were intensely sublime. The curl of pleasure deep in my core was too good, too rich with promise. I began to ride him while still kissing him by just arching my lower back, lifting and moving my hips in a slow up-down pump. On the down movement I pushed strongly onto him, taking him as deep as I could while clenching my inner muscles around him in tight, compressing squeezes. And each time I squeezed, I sucked gently on his tongue.

  Alexander groaned. “Oh, Lila,” he was saying. “Oh, fuck. Oh, God. You feel too good. I’m too close.” His words were slightly slurred with his passion, with his effort to hold on.

  “I love the way your big cock feels inside my tight, wet little pussy,” I whispered into his ear.

  Alexander turned his head as though he wanted to watch my mouth as I spoke to him. His eyes were glazed. He looked at me like I was some apparition he couldn’t believe. Wanting to take him higher in every way I could, I said softly, “You make me crazy, I want you so bad. I lo
ve how you feel inside me, so big and so deep. I’m going to make you come so hard.”

  Talking dirty, it seemed, was another new skill I’d acquired under Alexander’s erotic influence. I’d never even thought the words I was saying to him, let alone spoken them. But this was the new me. The new assistant-cum-lover of the powerful CEO of Wolfe Enterprises. Riding Alexander felt like ruling the world, like I’d transformed into a sumptuous sex warrior, a golden goddess.

  I sat up, wanting more. I raised myself up and slid down onto him in rhythmic, bouncing drives. Each time I sat down onto him, he was so deep I could feel the blunt end of his cock press against my womb. And each time, I squeezed the rim of my sex tightly around him, drawing him into me, wanting full, total possession. The sensation swelled; my entire sheath felt like one blooming sweetspot. The wet friction grew warmer as I worked him, increasing my pace, taking him into the tight, moist constriction of my body again and again. My breasts bobbed lightly as I rode him, my movement a sensual balance of wild abandon and controlled stealth.

  “Fuck,” he growled again, as I gained momentum. “Lila. God, you’re so gorgeous. You feel so fucking good. So good, oh God, too good.”

  Alexander’s thumb found my clit, skating in measured, pressing circles, exposing the tiny peak from the protective hood and working it with bold precision. His thumb stroked strongly against the underside of my clit with rhythmic expertise. The cyclical pressure heightened the slick sweetness being delivered by my skewering joyride. Pleasure cascaded from my clit in bright, tight waves. I shattered, losing myself completely to the severe, untamed pleasure, riding him for all I was worth as my pussy clamped strongly around him, over and over. Alexander groaned as if his heart was being ripped out of his chest. His engorged shaft jerked riotously inside me, flooding me with his hot, liquid satisfaction. The gushing surges jetted against a sensitive trigger inside me, renewing my orgasm before it had even begun to abate, prolonging it into deep, radiating waves of bliss that found me writhing and wriggling against his big, driving body.

  As the last spasms rippled in a conjoined, fluttering denouement, I collapsed against his chest. His hand stroked my sweat-dampened hair and we lay quiet for several minutes, recovering from the pure potency of our lovemaking.

  “You’re going to kill me,” I heard him mutter, and I climbed up his body, looking at his face, and into his eyes. I clenched my saturated sex around his half-softened cock, loving the feel of the warmth, the sliding wetness that dripped and spilled.

  I smiled at him. “Yes.”

  We lay like that for some time, just staring into each other’s eyes, savoring the moment as our bodies remained locked in slick, rippling intimacy. After a few minutes, he spoke. “Do you mind if I ask you a very personal question?” he asked, his expression relaxed, his dark eyes glinting.

  “What?”

  “I realize this is a question I should probably have asked you yesterday, right about the time you were sliding your very wet, pink, virginal pussy along the biggest, baddest hard-on I’ve ever had in my life, and at my insistence.”

  I smiled. “I doubt you could’ve stopped me, whether you insisted or not,” I said, almost shyly. An inkling of my former inhibited self cringed fleetingly at the memory of they way I’d acted. I climbed off of him, and his softening shaft slid free of my body. I lay next to him. His eyes never left me.

  I felt no regret about what had happened, not at all, but I was still somewhat astounded at my brazen, throw-caution-to-the-wind reaction to Alexander Wolfe. Then again, I thought, as my eyes drank in every detail of his face, I knew I’d do it all over again. Then and now. He was irresistible, entirely too good to be true.

  “I didn’t want to stop you.” His mouth was curved in a reassuring half-smile.

  “Is that what you want to ask me?” I said. “Why I didn’t tell you I was a virgin?”

  “That’s not the question I’m thinking of but now that you mention it, why are – were – you a virgin? You’re so beautiful, Lila. So incredibly desirable. Why did you wait so long?”

  I didn’t answer him immediately. It was a long story, and one buried so deep I was often able to convince myself it had only been a long-ago dream. Or nightmare. Either way, there was no way I was about to dig up and lay out the disturbing details of my past. So I gave him the updated, abridged version. “I’ve never been that interested in sex, if you can believe that,” I told him. “I never wanted to. None of the men I dated seemed very attractive in that way.” He was listening with genuine interest, so I continued. “I was distracted by my studies. I thought, for a while, that something might be wrong with me. My friends were having sex. Everyone was having sex. Except me. It just never really appealed to me.” That was part of the reason, at least. Not quite the whole truth and nothing but the truth but it hardly mattered now. My hang-ups had been all but resolved by the curative potency of Alexander’s top shelf pheromones.

  He was smiling widely. My heart almost broke at the sight of him, of his happiness. He was absolutely stunning. “Amazing,” he said.

  “What’s amazing?”

  “That you experienced such a sudden, complete transformation the minute you walked into my office. That outfit you were wearing suggested otherwise, by the way. You definitely caught me off guard.”

  “Oh?”

  “I was expecting a mousy, bespectacled she-nerd wearing plaid and comfortable shoes.”

  I couldn’t help giggling at the image. “A few months ago, that’s what you would have been greeted with. A very average-looking academic wearing glasses and lugging around an oversized backpack. I have my roommate Eva to thank for my meticulous and very thorough makeover.”

  He tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear. “No. No way. Even in plaid and wearing glasses, you could never, ever have been average. You, my lovely Lila, are anything but average.”

  A squirmy dart of pleasure flickered in my stomach. My lovely Lila. I loved the way he said my name. And it startled me how much I adored the very personal pronoun he’d placed in front of it.

  “So. What’s the question, then?” I said. “What is it you wanted to ask me?”

  “You wouldn’t, by any chance, just so happen to be on the pill?” he asked. “Just out of curiosity?”

  If I’d ever had reason to contemplate even so much as one day into the future of this … relationship, it was right then. The way he asked this question was not demanding, or dire. It was true that we could have some serious consequences on our hands. The small trace not of humor but of shared, whatever-comes-of-it reality drew me to Alexander, in an emotional sense, more strongly than I cared to admit. We were in this together, was what he was saying. I hadn’t exactly been worrying about what came next, but it was nice – no, more than nice; it was ridiculously endearing that he would take this approach to our possibly life-changing recklessness. It would have been easy enough for him to usher me out the door with a polite goodbye kiss and a business card in my clenched fist, just in case. The fact that he showed not even the slightest interest in doing this was … possibly inappropriately … kind of a turn on, if you really want to know.

  “No,” I said. “I’m not.”

  “All right,” he said, not missing a beat. I liked the sound of his voice, the deep chest-filling timbre of it and the slightest rasped, sensual edge. “In that case, let me ask you another, even more personal question. If you don’t mind.”

  “Shoot.”

  “When, do you think, you might be expecting to get your next period?”

  Okay, this was personal. But, of course, he had every right to ask. I remember thinking it, the second time he had come inside me, when he’d taken me with such beautiful aggression right there on his desk: we were already bound. I don’t know why I had felt that way. Why it had seemed so immediate and so powerful. Or, why I hadn’t felt even remotely anxious, not even once, throughout the last thirty hours, about what might happen tomorrow. I’d been entirely consumed with the now, unreserved
ly devoted to my own hedonistic gratification. Obsessed with pleasuring my body with his, and his with mine.

  Alexander had many powerful effects on me, one of them being this: a silent and unfounded sense of reassurance. With him, I felt not only profoundly sensual, but also, inexplicably, safe. For no apparent reason except that he exuded a protectiveness that I’d felt from the get-go. I’d wondered, that very first time I’d laid eyes on him, if he was dangerous. He was big enough to be dangerous, and strong enough. His dark eyes had promised that he would do something with that strength, if given half an invitation. And I had walked right into his lair/office, almost instantly resolved to invite everything he was willing to give.

  Now, he was proving to me, maybe without even meaning to, that there was more to this than merely lust. A little glow of hope fluttered in my chest, but I suppressed it immediately. I wasn’t sure if I even wanted to hope for any kind of future with Alexander. But I was glad that he was asking me these questions. He was sharing the responsibility, owning it.

  I thought about his question carefully and I remembered. My cycle ran like clockwork. It was the reason I’d agreed to go commando, I now recalled: my period wasn’t due for four more days. Nine o’clock on Monday morning. That’s how precise my body clock was.

  And today was Friday.

  Maybe, just maybe, in the back of my mind I’d known that it was very unlikely I would get pregnant this late in my cycle. I wondered if different timing would have curbed my enthusiasm, as far as the past day-and-a-half’s decisions or lack thereof had gone. I doubted it.

  “Monday,” I said.

  His expression didn’t change but he did kiss me, very tenderly. This time, I felt the effects of that kiss, not with my body, but with my heart. I wasn’t sure if I liked that feeling or not. It made me feel like my hunger had dug deeper. Like Alexander had penetrated me not only with his sexuality, but something more. Before I could begin to explore my feelings on that particular subject, he spoke again, interrupting my train of thought.