BILLIONAIRE (Part 3 & Part 4) Read online

  BILLIONAIRE

  Part 3 & Part 4

  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: April 2013

  BILLIONAIRE (Part 3)

  Lila

  “I’m having some friends over tonight. For a poker game. We meet up every couple of months. Do you want to play?” Alexander asked me, his silky tone kick-starting some kind of sweet churn inside me, like he was already there, touching me with his echo and his promise.

  “I’m not much of a gambler,” I said, drying my wet hair with a towel. “I’ll watch. I’ll get your drinks for you.” I’ll watch you, I thought to myself. I wanted to be near him, to sit next to him and watch his strong hands and his remarkable face as he played cards with his friends.

  “You don’t need to be my waitress, Lila. I’ll teach you how to play if you want me to.”

  “Alexander, I’m your assistant. I can serve a few drinks to you and your friends.”

  It unnerved me a little, that I was getting so outrageously turned on just from the sound of his voice and the nearness of his big, sculpted body. I felt like rubbing myself against him. I wanted to hold him down and lick his skin. To bite him and eat him alive. To offer my warm, flowering pussy to his mouth. And he wasn’t even looking at me. His back was to me and he was opening a drawer in his dresser. “I have something for you,” he said.

  I walked over to where he was sitting on the bed, with only a towel wrapped around his hips. His black hair fell over his forehead in shiny ribbons. The color of his skin was like cinnamon.

  I was naked and still wet from our shared shower. As I thought about the time that had passed since my job interview, I realized it must be Saturday afternoon. My interview had been on Thursday. It hardly seemed possible that I had undergone such a profound change in such a short amount of time.

  We had showered together, but Alexander had not made love to me since this morning. He had soaped me and washed my hair, but he had made no move on me, as yet.

  My body, as I drew closer to him, began to come alive. There was a hint of soreness between my legs from the punishing pace we’d been keeping, but it didn’t stop me from wanting more. I let my fingers trace along the hard surface of his shoulder. I felt young and nubile, slim yet utterly womanly. My breasts were high and round, my nipples contracting into flushed tightness. From my knees to my navel my body felt hot and molten. “What is it?”

  In his hands he held two silver balls connected by a short white cord. They were slightly smaller than golf balls, and smooth. He placed them in one of my hands. “Keep them in your hand so they get nice and warm. I’m going to get you very, very wet. But I’m not going to let you come. I’m going to put these inside you. As you walk around, as you move, they’ll rub against a most sensitive place inside you. You’ll be on the verge of coming all evening. You’ll be so aroused that just one, single touch will set you off. It’ll be deliciously torturous for you. You don’t mind a little torture, do you, Lila?”

  His long eyelashes cast shadows onto his cheekbones in the ambient lighting of his palatial bedroom. He was looking at my nipples, which grew painfully tight under his appreciation. He touched one with a single fingertip, drawing a light, rotating circle. I couldn’t help it. I had to kiss him. His lips were too perfect, too rounded and soft and delectable-looking. They were making my mouth water. I slid my hands around his neck and raised his face to look at me. His obsidian eyes were playfully wicked. I leaned down to kiss him, gently bit his lower lip, drawing it into my mouth, licking his lips like they were sugar-coated.

  “I’m already wet,” I admitted, whispering. “For you.”

  “And later,” he said, half-smiling at my comment. “I will do much more than touch you, sweet. I’ll do everything you beg me to do.” He already knew I was wet. His fingers were there, kneading lightly, sliding across the silky furls.

  “Do it now,” I gasped.

  “No. Not now. I’m going to eat your luscious little pink pussy until it’s soft and ripe enough for me to insert these beads. But that’s all you get for now. You’re not going to come. Not yet.”

  I didn’t tell him but I thought he might be wrong about this. I was almost coming already, just from the gentle glide of his fingers, fondling the folds of my sex, slipping just inside me.

  “Put your mouth on me,” I breathed. I wanted him so badly I didn’t care that I was practically pleading. I could feel the very beginnings of my orgasm’s rise, the adrenaline surge, the light quickening. “I want to feel your tongue inside me.”

  He looked at me, his eyes narrowing. He stopped the movement of his fingers, like he could read my thoughts, seeing that he’d underestimated the heights of my arousal. He lay me back on the bed, running his hands over my skin, cupping my breast to take a nipple into his mouth. I moaned from the feel of his teeth, scraping against the sensitive bud. He immediately disengaged, pulling back, and I made a soft sound of protest. I let my legs fall open. I felt his gaze on me like heat. I liked the feel of that warm lust, centering on my vulnerable, open nakedness. And I wanted to tempt him further. Still holding the round beads in my hand, I touched myself, gently parting my slippery petals.

  His breath caught as he watched me do this, and he let his towel fall to the floor. He held his thick, rigid cock in one hand, stroking it in a languid rhythm. “You are so fucking gorgeous, Lila. I can’t believe how sexy you are,” he said softly. “I’m going to come. All over you. Right now. And tonight, I’m going to know, as you walk around and talk to my friends, and drive them all crazy, that my cum is all over your body. And that these beads are inside your hot, wet little pussy, and that all I have to do is to slip my hand under the table, under the short skirt you’ll be wearing. I’ll know that all I’ll have to do is brush my fingers gently across your clit, and you’ll come all over my hand, right there at the table. You won’t moan or cry out. You’ll look into my eyes and I’ll see the delicious pleasure washing through you. And I’ll know it’s all for me. It’ll be that easy.” His breath was heavier now, his eyes smoldering. “Do you want me to do that to you, Lila? Do you?”

  With my hand still on my intimate folds, opening myself to him, playing my body, I reached my other hand to his cock. His hands slid around mine, allowing me to help him stroke his silky, engorged length. “I want this,” I said, squeezing lightly, “to touch me here.” I slid a finger deeper into my saturated core, rolling the cool beads against my hot flesh. I tugged gently on his cock, rubbing my hand back and forth in a coercive rhythm. Each time I moved my hand forward, I pulled him closer.

  But he wouldn’t give it to me. He circled my wrists in his hands, like warm, living manacles. “You’ll wait, like I tell you to,” he said. There was a teasing edge to his command, but also a steely stubbornness. He wasn’t going to give in to me. “You’ll come when I say so,” he continued. “When I allow it. Only then. And I’m going to make you wait tonight, sweet Lila. I’m going to torture you like you torture me.” He pinned my hands to the bed, kneeling down to breathe lightly on my sex, blowing little puffs of warm, caressing air.

  “I don’t torture you,” I protested, feeling the full burning force of my desperation. “I give you everything you want.”

  He chuckled softly. “You torture me, sweet,
like I’m walking a fine line between heaven and hell. Every second that I’m not inside you. Every second my mouth isn’t tasting you. How am I going to stand this when we’re apart for even one hour? How am I going to survive not looking at you? How will I function, not knowing when I can touch you again, to do this?” As though overcome by the thought, he touched his mouth to my sex in a lusty, open-mouthed kiss. His mouth ate at me. His tongue delved, licking deep, then lapping against the small charged peak of my clit. His moans were almost savage-sounding. If he’d sucked me, I could have climaxed almost instantly. But he knew this. His licks were gentle and wet but purposefully avoiding rhythm.

  Then he took the round beads from my hand and carefully, one at a time, rolled them against my entrance. He pushed one into me, then the other. I was so wet they slid into me easily enough, although they felt bigger than they looked. There was a full, not unpleasant ache inside me and my body clenched around the invading roundness until the beds were snugly embraced. I lay still, letting my inner muscles adjust. My breasts rose and fell with my breath and I could feel the air and the heat of my body with each little movement.

  It was then that Alexander touched the broad end of his cock strongly against my engorged nub, in a brief, gyrating press. The sensation was bright and intense, a bolt of promising pleasure that rocked me to my core, where I began to pulse around the beads. But then, to my intense dismay, he removed his touch before the rush could fully take hold.

  I felt irate at this sudden removal of my promised pleasure. It wasn’t fair.

  I wanted his big cock touching me, pressing against me, rubbing me and giving me the release I needed. I bucked and writhed, wanting him to do it again but he was chuckling at my inflamed reaction.

  “Not yet, sweetheart,” he laughed. I knew it: I was in bed with the devil. Who else would have enjoyed torturing me to this extent? Who else would have laughed at my desperation?

  And it was only getting worse. As I writhed, swiveling my hips in a protesting plead, the beads, deep inside me, began to roll, too, caressing me from the inside. The fullness was indescribable, the pleasure deep and severe. Not enough, yet, to make me come, but I was riding some sort of pre-orgasmic swell that was maddeningly warm, and blissfully sweet.

  Alexander freed my wrists, sliding his hands around his cock. By this point, I was very nearly mindless. I felt greedy and crazily aroused. I wanted to touch him. I wanted my hands on that big cock, squeezing and caressing. With my hands now free, I reached for him.

  “I’d fuck that perfect little mouth, honey, but I’m wary of the state you’re in,” he laughed, and his smugness fueled my madness further. With one hand I fingered the smooth crown of his cock, lightly pinching the head, swirling my thumb across the moisture that had gathered there. He groaned loudly. I let my other hand rove, cupping the loose skin of his scrotum, playing gently, reaching to the secreted place behind to deftly explore and gently press. Boldly, I went further, wriggling my fingers, feathering, teasing.

  “Holy fucking God, Lila,” he growled. “You’re killing me. You’re killing me.”

  I pressed harder, working him with my hands. And harder. “Come on,” I cooed. “Come all over me. I want to feel your hot cum on my skin. I want to rub it all over my naked body.”

  With a feral growl, Alexander exploded. He came in pulsing, milky bursts that jetted endlessly across my breasts and my stomach. I loved the feeling of his pleasure raining over me, marking me as his. I felt owned by him, and coveted. I had earned this claim and I wanted every drop of it.

  His teeth were clenched and his heavy-lidded eyes slightly bloodshot from the power of his release. Watching his eyes, I rubbed his cum across my skin, reveling in the soft liquid silk of it as I painted my breasts. I swirled it around my nipples.

  Alexander leaned over me, bracing his arms on either side of me. He kissed me deeply, his tongue exploring in intimate thrusts, and there was a pronounced tenderness to his kiss that made my heart beat faster. I love everything about him, I thought. I’ll never get enough of this, of him.

  “You,” he said, his voice deep and hoarse. “Are something else.”

  I wanted him to keep kissing me, but he rose and walked over to his closet. He pulled on a pair of faded jeans, leaving them unbuttoned. He disappeared into the bathroom for a few seconds and I could hear the water of the sink running. When he returned he was carrying a small handtowel. He sat next to me on the bed. “Let me clean you up a little bit. I’ve made a complete mess of you.” His tall form was supremely beautiful. Big and gracefully muscled. His jeans were open at the front, his cock protruding, still semi-erect.

  I felt a little calmer now, like I had channeled some of his satisfaction. I lay still as he cleaned me everywhere with the warm cloth, reveling in his careful, thorough attention. As he wiped the soft cloth across my skin, he kissed me. My shoulder, my throat, my breasts. He turned me over, and I could feel the beads’ effect as a deep, swirling ache of pleasure. He kissed a line down my shoulder blade, to the rounded cheeks of my ass, spreading them slightly to kiss me in a very tight, secret place. I squirmed but he held me down. And then, to my intense shock, he licked his tongue into the puckered cove, pressing and digging gently. His tongue sent a fiery, burrowing dart of need through my body, connecting the aching sweetness in my pussy with the place his tongue played, intensifying my longing exponentially. It was a foreign, debauched feeling and I wriggled away from him, panting. He allowed me to, turning me onto my back. “There,” he said, laying the cloth aside. “Get dressed. We’ll go downstairs.”

  I stood from the bed, tentatively taking a few steps as he watched me. The fullness inside me was insanely lush with sensation. I could walk normally, but each step I took washed me in a low, ecstatic tide of near-orgasmic pleasure. I experimented with a few poses and a few stretches. Alexander’s eyes as he watched me were like obsidian jewels.

  I put on, as he’d suggested, a kilt-like very-short black skirt and a white V-neck top that was fitted, low-cut and cropped, so a small stripe of skin showed between the waistband of my skirt and the hem of the top. I wore, as I was now becoming accustomed to, nothing underneath. But then I wondered if this skirt was a little too short to go without. In my former life, I wouldn’t even have considered wearing a) a skirt this short, and b) nothing underneath it. Times had most definitely changed. I may as well have been wearing a bikini for all the coverage it was giving me. I brushed my hair and left it long and loose. And I put on some mascara, a hint of kohl eyeliner and some pink lip gloss.

  Alexander was wearing a white polo shirt. His jeans were still unfastened. And his erection had gained momentum as he’d watched me dress.

  “Are you going to holster your gun, cowboy? That’s hardly a way to greet your guests.”

  “I want you to holster my gun for me.”

  I went to him, taking his hot, rearing cock in my hands. It was perfectly shaped, thick and long, like stone wrapped in silk. “Do you want me to –”

  “Yes. But they’re probably already here. And it’s not going to make a difference. I’ll just get instantly hard again the minute I look at you.” He seemed almost pissed off about the pronouncement.

  I couldn’t help smiling as I eased his oversized erection into his jeans, carefully tucking it to the side as I buttoned his fly. His hands were on my bare ass as he pulled me up against him, cradling me against the hard pressure of him. Reflexively, I began to rock slightly, easing my aching clit against him. If I could just find a casual rhythm before he suspected exactly what I was doing, it would be so easy. But he held me still, fully reading my intent, unrelenting. “Don’t forget who you belong to,” he said, and the comment struck something in me. He hadn’t said Don’t forget who you work for, or Don’t forget whose assistant you are. He’d expressed his ownership again and instead of arguing about my independence or my equality, all I wanted to do, perversely, was not only to agree but to kneel down in front of him and take his raging manhood into my mouth.r />
  But he was pulling me out the door.

  Alexander’s friends – all five of them – were, to a man, drop-dead gorgeous. Not as gorgeous as Alexander himself, but certainly above average in the virility department. Alexander held my hand as he introduced me to them, and glowered slightly at their open-mouthed reaction to, well, me.

  I wasn’t used to this kind of response from men. In the past, I’d always worn loose, baggy clothing. I’d worn glasses for many years, for reading, which meant that I’d worn them most of the time; I’d only ditched them for contacts a few months ago. I’d rarely thought about fashion or dressed to showcase my assets. I’d been too immersed in academic achievement. Plenty of men had asked me out in college, but I’d been completely focused on getting through with flying colors that the dating scene had seemed an unnecessary distraction. The opportunity to flaunt or flirt hadn’t really come up all that often. I’d dated a few guys, but the relationships had always sputtered out before they’d really even begun. I knew the murky secrets of my past made me wary and prevented me from getting too close to people. To men. The dark, repressed memories swirled behind my thoughts but I denied them. I knew why I’d hidden myself. I knew why I’d never allowed anyone to get close to me. Until Alexander. With bizarre and forceful clarity, he strode through my reservations as though I’d never even had any. As though I was normal. As though my childhood was as clean and pure as the driven snow. With him, that’s how I felt. Free and protected. And I had no idea how he was able to release me in this way. His very presence was a perfect cocktail of intoxicating aphrodisiac and emancipating license. Like he’d opened a door in me, releasing manic facets of myself I never knew existed, then fed those appetites with lust and champagne and fever.

  And now, with my newfound sexuality, which had taken on the ferocity of a rampaging bull, the attention of these rich, handsome men was flattering, and reminded me, disconcertingly, of my hidden secret. If Alexander had left the room, I might have shrunk back into myself like a hothouse flower under a sudden gust of cold air. But his presence was humidity and sun, fueling me, burning me and opening me like I’d never known.