BILLIONAIRE (Part 5) Read online

  BILLIONAIRE

  Part 5

  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: June 2013

  BILLIONAIRE (Part 5)

  Lila

  A car picked us up directly from the steps of Alexander’s jet. Not a limousine, but an equally-plush slightly less ostentatious European version. I had to take exactly twelve steps on the tarmac between the plane and car. I counted. And I knew that if I’d asked Alexander to carry me, he would have swept me into his burly arms without question or hesitation.

  There was something deliciously decadent about this new luxury of having my tycoon Adonis at my beck and call in every regard. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for me. I’d never had the experience of being so well attended to. I loved that he was as needy as I was. His dark eyes watched me all the time. Studying the shape of my face, the curve of my mouth, my body language and my every movement. He was reading me and learning me, and reacting to every new piece of myself I gave him. And I was basking in the extravagance of it all.

  Not only that, but I felt genuinely touched by his concern. He was obsessive and obsessed; I knew this and I didn’t exactly mind. But he was also unequivocally protective and it was this bodyguard mentality I was almost enjoying most of all. That Alexander would do all in his power to pleasure me was obvious enough; our bodies had barely disengaged the entire time we had so far spent together. Alexander would also move heaven and earth to protect me, and if I’d felt like dwelling on the extent of it, I might have been almost perturbed by how much I’d become addicted to this relative safety of him, and of being with him. The Alexander experience was one that was swathed in a buffer of opulent, shielding affluence. We were elevated, separated from the dreary and the commonplace, warm and safe. I delighted in this cushion of ease, especially since it was occupied by the most gorgeous, compelling, caring and well-endowed beefcake I had ever seen or imagined. And he was all mine.

  “We’ll see the sights soon enough,” he said. “First, we’re going to the hotel. You can sleep if you want to. You didn’t get much sleep on the plane.”

  Not surprisingly. It wasn’t just the excitement of the journey but the presence of Alexander’s gargantuan and perpetual hard-on inside me that might have prevented any particularly restorative REM. Not that I minded. Every orgasm Alexander bestowed imparted me with a inexplicable power. A confidence. A new sense of myself. Like he was feeding me some kind of liquid invincibility with each gift, each flooding burst of his pleasure and his essence.

  I held his hand as we drove past the Eiffel Tower and he smiled at the look on my face, kissing my lips even as I stared up at the vast, superb reality of it.

  “I never dreamed I would ever see this place.”

  “I felt the same way the first time I came to Paris,” Alexander said, with his hands on my body. “It was my first trip abroad, too, and I decided then and there that I needed to start a magazine here so I could come here whenever I wanted to. Paris is where I indulge myself.”

  At this, I looked at his face. I was almost daunted by the admission. If he hadn’t been indulging himself so far and planned to start right now, I knew I was in for a time of it. And I was more than up for the challenge. He might have read my thoughts. “Yes,” he murmured. “I am dedicating this entire week to indulging myself. But most of all I am dedicating this entire week to indulging you.”

  “I’m supposed to be starting my new job,” I reminded him. “When do we start working?” Even to my own ears my question didn’t sound all that urgent. In fact I didn’t mind when or if we ever started working. I was enjoying his company far too much. Work would mean meetings and people and separations.

  “When we’re ready,” was all he said about that.

  “When’s the last time you took a week off to indulge yourself?” I asked him.

  He kissed my mouth again, sucking on my bottom lip, dipping his tongue into my mouth like he couldn’t resist the taste of me. A light groan escaped him. “I have never, ever taken a week off to indulge myself.”

  “So this is a special occasion,” I said, taking his plump lip between my teeth.

  “Yes.”

  “What is the occasion?” I asked. Just to hear him say it.

  “You, my sweet Lila,” he said against my mouth, his fingers tugging gently on my nipple through the thin fabric of yet another new top, “are the occasion. The sweetest little occasion in the entire goddamn fucking universe.”

  He kissed me deeply then, pushing his tongue into me like he did when he was inside me, making love to my mouth with his as he pulled me onto his lap. I nestled my backside against his hard length, fitting him between the curves of my ass, wiggling and willing. I was wearing a short blue skirt that rode up easily under his wandering hands.

  The car pulled to a stop.

  “Fuck,” he said under his breath.

  “We’re at the hotel,” I said helpfully. “Down, boy.”

  He looked at me like he was considering locking the doors, holding me down and having his wicked way with me, waiting chauffeur and honking traffic be damned. “I’ll down boy you, darlin’, as soon as I have half the opportunity.” It wasn’t his comment that struck me but the hint of an accent. And this wasn’t the first time I’d detected the slightest note of a southern drawl in the inflections of his speech and it made me wonder about his history. His childhood. Aside from the obvious details of his beauty and his wealth, it was true that I knew almost nothing else about Alexander. He had a brother. He owned a number of companies. He’d gone to Princeton.

  Maybe this week would give me an opportunity to mine for nuggets of information about his backstory, which he seemed cagey about giving. This, I understood only too well.

  I shimmied off of his lap, rearranging my clothing.

  “Too many damn distractions,” he was muttering. “I’m going to lock you away for the entire week and make love to you however and whenever I want. With no interruptions.”

  “Sure you can, honey,” I teased him, laughing at the aroused, disheveled state of him. The door was being opened by the oblivious driver, and I took my opportunity to step out onto the sidewalk.

  We had pulled up in front of a charming very-Parisian-looking hotel, with sculpted wrought iron balconies. L’Etoile was scrawled across the pink awning in looping script. Star. How apt, somehow. My French did not extend much beyond reading this word, introducing myself, and, in a stretch, ordering a bottle of wine. For some reason, the name and the look of this enchanting haven seemed perfect. It was cute and inviting and quaint, and I absolutely loved it.

  Alexander, after a minute or two, climbed out of the car and stood next to me, huge and exotically American. His black hair and white teeth and obvious prosperity made him stand out like a sparkling, preppy pirate king amid a sea of stylish underlings. Everything about him, from his impressive size to his superb, masculine shape, screamed alpha.

  And this place. We were not far from the shadow of the Eiffel Tower, and its magnificence and unequivocal romance cast its aura around the entirety of the scene. Along the streets in either direction, there were cafés and bakeries with little al fresco tables congregated in colorful clusters. People gathered and milled, and every single person looked like they might have just stepped off the set of a fashion photography sh
oot. Across the street and beyond the merchants was the river Seine.

  “Take these bags to my room,” Alexander was telling the bellboys. “And have a bottle of your best champagne brought to the suite immediately.” His orders were somewhat gruff. He was grumpy, maybe, from the fact that his erection was not being dutifully attended to.

  I slid my fingers through his. “No ‘please’? Do you always speak to people like that?”

  He looked down at me like a black-maned lion assessing its prey. “I only say please to you.”

  “Well, I think you’re rude,” I told him.

  “You don’t know the half of how rude I am,” he said, spinning the word to sound filthy, and his lips curved in a smile that promised as much as I could handle. “Come with me.”

  He led me through the lobby of L’Etoile, which was even more exquisite that the façade, tasteful but still over-the-top with its pink and gold décor. “Monsieur Wolfe,” a well-dressed man greeted us. “Mademoiselle …”

  “Carmichael,” Alexander said. “My guest for the duration of our visit. Lila, meet Monsieur Dumas. He’s the manager of the hotel.”

  “Bienvenue,” the man said, taking my hand and kissing the back of my knuckles. “Enchanté.”

  Oh, God, I loved this place. Everything was just so perfectly French.

  I was led into the small elevator. Alexander punched the button for the top floor. “He seems nice,” I commented, running my fingers along the pink velvet cladding of the elevator car.

  “He does a good job,” Alexander replied, much more interested in the textures of my skin than the topic we were discussing. His hands skimmed under my skirt, grasping the rounded curve of my ass. His fingers roved, touching everywhere, lightly kneading the fleshy, swelling lips of my pussy, claiming me once again as his own. The effects of his playful-yet-commanding contact funneled deeper, moistening me, infusing me with the honey he so easily inspired. “I hired him last year.”

  “You hired him?”

  “I own the hotel.”

  I shouldn’t have been surprised, of course. He might have owned the Eiffel Tower, too, as well as the London Bridge, the Empire State Building and the goddamn pyramids of Egypt.

  I felt so completely happy I could hardly stand it. I flitted out of the elevator as soon as the doors opened, knowing full well that Alexander’s suite would not only be the penthouse, if Europe even did penthouses, but also that it would be divine. Like everything else in his world.

  And I was not disappointed.

  Entering the suite, I wandered, aghast, and couldn’t help marveling at the incredible extravagance of it. There was a large sitting room, with plush-looking couches, chairs and loveseats. Open double French doors led to a balcony with a table and chairs that looked over the picturesque scene of the river and its lively banks. On the other side of the river I could see Notre Dame. The bedroom had a huge king-sized bed, mountains of pillows and duvets and another balcony, this one affording a view of the Eiffel Tower itself. The bathroom had two toilets, an enormous clawfoot bath and a state-of-the-art shower enclave. And throughout, the furnishings and decorative touches were the most romantic and at the same time most luxurious than any I had ever seen.

  Wow.

  A man had uncorked the chilling champagne and was pouring it into two glasses, placing them on the table. Alexander pulled a roll of American dollars from his pocket and handed the young man a hundred-dollar bill. Then he handed the rest of the cash to the wide-eyed bellboy and said, “Change the rest of this into francs and leave it at the front desk. I’ll pick it up later.”

  “Oui, Monsieur Wolfe,” the man said, almost bowing. He hastily left the room, closing the door behind him. Which Alexander proceeded to lock. He picked up the champagne flutes and handed me one.

  “I have never, ever seen any place as beautiful as this,” I said. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

  He clinked his glass against mine. “Thank you for coming with me. It is my pleasure to give you anything and everything you want. I like having you in Paris with me. Paris is my sanctuary.”

  Something passed between us as we sipped the bubbling, delectable drink. A connective, visceral tenderness as I looked into his midnight eyes. The champagne tasted like starry magic. Just a few sips of it gave me a beatific buzz. Probably because this was breakfast and all I’d had for dinner was a few bites of filet mignon and some chocolate cake. I sipped again, but Alexander took my glass.

  “You can have more of this. But first I want you to go into the bathroom. Return to me once there is nothing on you, or in you, that might present a barrier to me. Take as long as you need.”

  I wrapped my fingers around his, lifting the glass to my lips and taking a long sip. Then I obeyed him and retreated to the bathroom.

  “But not too long,” he added.

  Alexander had bought me several new travel bags – wildly expensive ones, of course – and the smaller of the two had already been placed in the bathroom. I brushed my teeth then experimented with what was not actually a second toilet but a bidet. I’d heard of these but had never seen one. A clever invention, I decided.

  When I opened the door to the bedroom, Alexander was standing on the balcony, looking at the view. I went to him.

  I was naked, but I joined him on the balcony anyway. I knew he would like this somehow: my display. We were high enough that no one might notice. If they did, I hardly cared. My nakedness was making me feel reckless. Free. The extreme luxury that buffered me from the outside world only compounded the effect.

  Alexander put his drink down. He stood in front of me, pulling me against the hard planes of his body. “I’m going to take you out to breakfast, lunch and dinner every day, and feed you the most delicious food you’ve ever had. But first I’m afraid I just can’t wait another minute, or even another second. I’m going to ravage you, sweet Lila, until you can barely remember your own name.” He kneeled down in front of me, holding me in place with his hands. He kissed the soft cove between my legs, once, and again. His tongue burrowed to find my hidden clit, which he circled with his tongue, drawing it out, sucking the tiny nub in hungry little pulls. The cocktail of lust, champagne and mild sleep deprivation, not to mention jet lag, gave reality a sumptuous, luminous tint. I felt lucky and playful and supremely alive. I squirmed from his hold. He grabbed for me, but I had the advantage of surprise, and I darted in through the door, standing behind one of the large couches, ready to bolt.

  “Lila,” he said, standing in the doorway. He was in no mood for games.

  But I was.

  He walked towards me, skirting the couch to get closer. But I moved, too, keeping just out of reach. He was so aroused, the broad tip of his cock was visible, poking above the waistband of his jeans. The sight of it, engorged and slick with pre-cum, was enough to slow my retreat. I wanted to taste him, to put my mouth on all that bursting impressiveness. “Come here,” he said, “or I’ll have to take you over my knee.”

  I laughed at his heated, feral expression and I continued to evade him. He lunged over the couch to grab at me, but I pulled back and he missed.

  We circled, slowing to a stop.

  I touched myself, fingering my nipples, pulling lightly and rolling them between my fingertips. “Is this what you want, Alexander?” I cooed. “You want to suck on me?”

  He went very still. Then he unzipped his jeans, taking his enormous cock in his hand. “You know I do.”

  I let my hands slide slowly down my stomach and across my hips as he watched me, slowly stroking himself. My body made smooth little gyrating movements, almost unintentionally. Arching my back, I swayed my hips in a slow, back-and-forth motion. I licked one of my fingers, touching it then to my sex, swirling the moisture to open myself, to tease my clit. “Or is this what you want?” I breathed, gasping a little as shards of pleasure rose under the touch of my own fingers. “You should feel how hot and wet I am.”

  He exhaled in a barely-spoken breath.

 
I swiveled my hips, turning my back to him, leaning forward to reveal myself from behind. I slid my fingers across the lips of my pussy from the back, opening myself to his riveted gaze, dipping a finger into the wetness. “Or do you want to spank me? For being naughty. For denying you what’s yours.”

  He didn’t speak. He seemed almost incapable of it. His eyes were darker than I’d ever seen them. He looked mean and dangerously aroused.

  But still, I wanted to push him. To ignite him. To play with my own power. To somehow push him further than he’d ever been pushed. “Because you know this is all yours, don’t you, Alexander?” I said softly. “This mouth is yours. These warm, sensitive nipples are yours. This tight, wet pussy, all slick and ready for you. Yours.”

  I walked over to the bed, leisurely, sliding onto all fours with my hips up. I wanted to tease him but he was already there, and his thick cock speared into me from behind as his hands adjusted my body into the position he demanded. He pushed my shoulders further down until my cheek was pressed against the covers. He pulled my hips higher and shoved my knees further apart. Alexander’s hands held me down in a vise- grip that felt on the verge of bruising me as he thrust into me, thick and deep. I cried out at the unexpected ferocity of him. If I had attempted to push him past some unknowable boundary, I’d succeeded. He’d never been this forceful with me before. His massive, rigid cock drove roughly into me, again and again, reaching all the way to my womb with each indomitable lunge. When I reached back to touch some part of him in an unspoken plea to slow down, to be more gentle, he grabbed both my hands, clinching my wrists behind my back in one of his big fists. The combined force of his depth, his thickness, his grip and the driving, vigorous pace was too much. I was wet but still too-tight and sensitive, and the sliding friction was edged with pain. I’d forgotten how unbelievably strong he was.

  “Alexander!” I whimpered.

  It took him a moment to slow, as though he was having difficulty pulling himself out of a delirium of total, blind dominance. Then he did slow, pulling himself all the way out of me so only the broad tip of his cock was inside me. He curled his body over mine, resting his chest against my back, covering me. He kissed my shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.