BILLIONAIRE

Part 6

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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: September 2013

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BILLIONAIRE (Part 6)

Lila

We were back in New York.

After the night flight and the cocooning extravagance, time was loose, almost

lyrical, like my life had become a particularly sweet song that I had to stop and just
appreciate every now and then. Two weeks in Paris had bonded me to Alexander
irrevocably. Our connection was forged, deeply and sublimely, by a mutual need that
had taken over every aspect of my days, and my nights. He rarely left my side. His
presence had become my compass. His touch drew me like nothing I had ever
experienced. And his dedication to my every whim was a luxury I knew was
dangerously addictive.

I had no need for a watch or to even be aware of the day or the hour. The schedule

my former life had been ruled by seemed petty and distant. All I could comprehend now
was the comfort I was still adjusting to. I opened my eyes to unshadowed late-morning
light, stretching like a cat, naked under the plush quilted mounds of the duvet and the
Egyptian cotton sheets whose thread count was probably in the six-digit neighborhood. I
let my hands search the cool, unoccupied half of his California king-sized bed.

“Alexander?” I sat up, and the covers fell to my waist.

He was lounging in a leather chair next to the floor-to-ceiling windows, dressed

only in jeans, his feet propped onto a zebra-patterned ottoman. His MacBook was
perched on his lap and his black hair fell in half-curled fronds over his forehead.
Something about the disheveled state of his too-long hair, the tanned hue of his muscled
torso and the safari theme provided by the what-I-could-only-assume-was-authentic
animal skin furniture made him look rugged and edgy. Despite his riveted concentration
to the screen of his computer, his eyes swiveled to me slowly. To my face, and the
mussed mane of my blond hair. To my naked breasts. Back to my face. His expression
was laced with that lazy, arrogant manliness I loved about him. A stranger would have

construed the look as unapproachable, almost cold. I knew better.

“You’re working?” I asked.

I was mildly peeved by this. After the uninterrupted hedonism of Paris, I was used

to having him all to myself. To his undivided attention. The minute we’d cleared the
Charles de Gaulle runway, he’d started stealing moments to check emails and read stock
reports. I’d been happy enough to catch up on some sleep and leave him to it, but now, I
was well-rested. And he looked too delicious. All those burnished muscles and
shadowed stubble.

Alexander paused before giving me an oblique reply: “I’ve been away for almost

two weeks.”

“I know,” I said, hearing the churlishness in my voice. He heard it too and his

mouth twitched as he stared at me. Then his attention returned to his computer screen.

It had been a topic we’d avoided almost completely. I’d tried to bring it up once

when we’d first arrived in Paris, then again in some romantic little bistro on the Left
Bank. Both times, when he’d dismissed my question, abruptly changing the subject, I’d
silently agreed: it hadn’t been the time or place to get into the nitty gritty of our work
schedule, once we finally returned to reality. In those halcyon days, reality had seemed a
million miles away.

But now, reality was upon us. It was shining its blue light onto the planes of

Alexander’s sculpted chest, flickering its insistence across his perfect face. For some
reason, this made me feel uneasy.

I gave him a minute to finish typing his sentence, or whatever it was that he was

doing. Then I lay back into the pillowy nest of Alexander’s bed, rolling languidly across
the expanse of it and displacing the covers in the process. I stretched again, wholly
aware that Alexander was now watching me from under the fall of his thick hair. I was
on my stomach and I arched my back and lifted my hips as I rose from the bed. The
carpet was soft and cushioned under my feet. I stood in front of the window and its
outrageous view, feeling like an Olympian goddess surveying the land of the mortals. It
was indescribably empowering, this feeling: of nakedness and wealth and a pronounced
degree of removal from all the worry and mundanity of hardship. Nothing felt as good
and as safe as this buffer Alexander provided. Anyone who ever said money couldn’t

buy happiness was deluded.

I padded over to him, closely circling his chair as I coiled a finger through the

coarsely silken locks of his hair. “What day is it?”

“Saturday.”

“Your work can’t wait until Monday?”

“There are a couple of issues at Jake’s company that need attention. I’ve put it off

long enough.” There was a curtness in his tone that was new. He was conflicted.
Pressing concerns at his companies had been cast aside for me and me alone, for more
than two weeks. I knew this was unprecedented. Alexander had never taken a day off in
his life until I’d walked into it. I could have felt flattered, or empowered, and I did. Not
only that, but I felt possessive. I was too used to owning his time completely; it was all
I’d ever known of him and I was more than a little reluctant to give him up like this, even
for a few hours.

“So we’re working today,” I commented blithely.

His dark eyes conveyed no emotion aside from a simmering, corralled lust. “We’re

not working today, no. I’m catching up on a few emails today, and I might spend a few
hours in my office this afternoon. You’re relaxing. And tonight, we can go out
somewhere. If you want.”

“I don’t need to relax. There’s only so much relaxation one person can handle. I’ve

relaxed more in the past two weeks than I ever have in my life.” It was true, depending
on how you defined ‘relaxation’; a lot of it had been relaxation of the strenuous and
somewhat kinky variety. Either way, my frustrations were on a roll. “When do I get to
start working?”

Here I was, naked, mussed-up from sleep and a sexual marathon that was as

energetic on the twentieth day as it had been on the first. I was also marginally turned
on. Too satiated from sleep and sensual satisfaction to be frenzied about it, my desire for
Alexander was so thoroughly ingrained in me by this point that just touching his hair
was enough to kick start the gentle pulse, the latent, secret heat. I thought about taking
his laptop and setting it aside, unzipping his jeans, climbing onto him and straddling his
hips. Working him. Taking his growing, hardening length into my hands. My mouth.
Insisting that he give me everything. But I was irked by the way his eyes kept glancing at

the screen. And his dismissive tone bothered me. Maybe I’d already started working,
several weeks ago. Maybe this was all he intended for me to do: to service his whims
when he was in the mood. I knew enough about his body language to read his
disengagement. I grabbed one of his shirts that had been flung over a chair. A white
button-down made of thick, expensive cotton. I wrapped it around myself and it hung to
the tops of my thighs. “Can I take some notes for you, boss? You’ve only put half of my
skills to good use so far.”

He looked up at me, and his annoyance gave way to a light, exhaled chuckle.

“Come on, Lila. Don’t get all petulant over a couple of emails.”

“I’m not petulant,” I said. Petulantly, yes. For good reason. “I’m supposed to be

your assistant, remember? Or have you changed your mind about that?” I knew I was
overreacting: I was almost hyper-aware of my jealousy, or whatever this was. Maybe
because I’d given up almost every facet of my pre-Alexander life at the drop of a hat for
him, as soon as he’d snapped his fingers. I’d been ridiculously willing to step into his
world and leave all my baggage behind.

Alexander got to keep his baggage. He got to run his company and live in his

apartment and have dinner with his brother and his employees. He didn’t have to give
anything up because all the good stuff was his. His company, job, apartment, money.
His hotels and jets and chefs and doormen.

All I had was him.

Nevermind that all I wanted was him, but the scales felt decidedly uneven. Not only

that but a creeping suspicion that he no longer wanted me to work for him was becoming
more and more obvious with each passing day. And he still hadn’t answered my
question. His attention was once again diverted to his damn computer screen.

“Alexander?”

“Hmm?” Typing.

“I’m going to take a shower and get dressed,” I said, in full challenge mode. “Then

we’ll go to your office and you can start teaching me how to help you run your empire.”

He typed a few more words. Then he leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers

together behind his head. It was several seconds before he spoke, but when he did, his
dark eyes stared into mine. “I’ve been thinking.”

“Oh?” I knew exactly what he’d been thinking about. If I hadn’t been so incensed,

I might have acknowledged a flicker of pleasure at my ability to read his mind and
predict his thoughts. Our searingly intimate time together had given us a familiarity that
was unusual. But I was glaring at him when I replied. “About what?”

He cagily avoided the central topic. “There’s a private gym and a Jacuzzi on the

twenty-fifth floor. Great views.”

“I don’t do gyms. I do yoga.”

This information seemed to distract him for a few seconds. “Then sit in the hot tub.

I’m sure we can locate a personal yogi for you at some point during the week. As long as
there’s no tantric activity involved.”

His light joke was wasted in my current state of mine. “I don’t feel like sitting in a

hot tub.”

“Of course you do. Everybody does. Go and pamper yourself for a few hours. This

won’t take too long. Then I’ll take you out to dinner, wherever you want to go.”

“I’ll tell you what,” I began, pulling on the short skirt I’d worn the day before. I

buttoned the middle two buttons of his shirt and tied the front into a knot to create a
half-shirt that revealed the pale skin of my stomach. “I might go and get some fresh air.
Since you’re working. We can meet back here later on. Or we can meet at the
restaurant. Tell me which one and I’ll see you there at … how’s seven? Or would eight
be better?” I pulled on my new, killer Balenciaga boots. I still couldn’t believe how
beautiful and comfortable they were. Pure wearable art. I wanted another pair. Or two.
Not because I was feeling particularly materialistic but because I wanted to spend time
with Alexander, as we had the first time he’d taken me shopping, lavishing me with his
full-blown, magical attention. “I’ve always wanted to go to Nobu,” I added, gaining
momentum, smoothing and fluffing my hair into place. “Do you think you could get us
in there on such short notice? With all your mogulish, billionaire connections?”

I was surprising even myself with my light yet surly bitchiness. This would rile

him. He hated the thought of me venturing out into the streets without him. I wasn’t
sure why, but in all the time I’d known him, he’d been insistent about being with me
whenever we’d left the apartment or hotel. Of course it was a scenario that couldn’t
sustain itself. He could hardly follow me around like a jumped-up bodyguard once we

returned to our normal lives and work schedules.

Alexander’s expression darkened. “No,” he said.

“No? No what? No, you don’t want to go to Nobu? Or no, you can’t get us in with

only a few hours’ notice?”

“I want you to stay here.”

It was exactly the reaction I’d predicted. I didn’t feel at all proud of the small surge

of triumph I experienced at his command, but I knew I’d gotten to him. I kept my tone
light. “As long as you’re working, and you don’t need me, I might as well keep myself
busy. Maybe I’ll go meet Eva for a coffee. I haven’t seen her in so long and I know she’s
dying to hear about Paris –”

“No, Lila.”

Let him stop me, I thought. Let him beg me. It would serve him right to stew for a

while if he was going to be stubborn and overbearing. This whole topic of was-I-going-
to-be-his-assistant-or-wasn’t-I was getting a little tedious. The hard-working academic in
me was excited about the challenge of working for one of the most successful magazines
in New York, learning the ins and outs of the publishing industry in general, and getting
to meet with and learn from top writers and editors in the field. The possessive female in
me felt almost panicked by the thought of not spending every waking hour with
Alexander, who felt like an extension of my own body and soul after the weeks of
connectivity we’d just shared. I was in love with him to such an extent that it scared me.
I was already so invested in this whirlwind romance that I knew he had the power to
shatter me into a million tiny pieces very easily. Too easily. My comfort at the
realization that he felt the same way wasn’t, come to think of it, all that comforting, only
because we were so new at this. It was unchartered territory for both of us. I had no idea
what the next day would bring, let alone the next hour. The air felt sparked with volatile
energy.

If he was going to string me along, or deny me, or restrict me for whatever reason,

then we could both play at that game.

I let his terse command hang in the air, ignoring it as I put on some pink lipstick.

Purposefully, I leaned towards the mirror, letting the tight fabric of my very-short skirt
frame my ass and ride up incrementally with my arching movement. Then I put on some

mascara – makeup that had been bought for me in Paris by Alexander, at ridiculous
expense – and unbuttoned the top button of the shirt I wore to spritz a spray of perfume
onto my half-exposed breasts. It was a given at this point that I wore nothing
underneath my clothes, even if I now had a closetful of La Perla lingerie that could rival
any heiress’s collection. At the time, I’d teased Alexander for buying me such useless
extravagances, especially when he always insisted I go without. Now, I grabbed my new
Chanel handbag and turned towards him. “Let me know what you decide,” I said,
heading towards the door of his bedroom.

Alexander looked comically appalled. Then his distress turned to fury. He

practically dropped his laptop as he stood, striding over to me to block my path. He
curled his fist around my arm, not painfully, but with undeniable force. “Lila,” he said
softly. “You’re not going out like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like … that,” he said, his grip tightening.

I pulled my arm from his grasp and turned away from him. “I am going out,

Alexander. Let go of me.”

He let his arms fall to his sides, but his aggressive stance did not ease. “Lila,” he

said. “Please.” It was the mixture of protectiveness and vulnerability in his eyes that
softened my irritation. He was afraid for me, I could see it written across his expression.
He knew only too well, as I did, about the dangers that lurked around dark, hidden
corners. “Come on,” he whispered, half threat, half plead. “Stay.”

I touched his face. “It’s only for a few hours. I’ll be fine. You said it yourself: you

want to work and you don’t need my assistance. That’s cool. I get it. I’ll see you when
you’re finished answering your emails. We can talk about the rest of it tonight.”

His grip returned to my arms, tightening. Both his hands were on me now,

manacled around my upper arms. He pulled me against him in a hug that was too
strong. I could feel his power and his desperation in the flex of his muscles and the beat
of his heart. “Don’t go,” he muttered under his breath, almost like it was a thought he
hadn’t meant to say out loud. “Stay with me.”

As much as I loved Alexander, and needed him, this full blown obsession of his was

closing in around me. I could feel the heavy longing in him, for assurances I couldn’t

give: that nothing would threaten me outside his reach, that we could and would give
each other all that the other required, that everything would be all right. “You won’t
even notice I’m gone. You’ll be busy. You’ll talk to Jake and solve whatever problems
have come up. You’ll call me in a few hours and tell me where to meet you. Then we’ll
be together again.”

His lips brushed against my hair as he held me close. His hands were moving

lower, no less insistent, his grip very nearly painful.

“It’s okay,” I murmured, to try to ease the fierce tension in him. “Everything’s all

right.”

But Alexander didn’t appear to be convinced. “No,” he said again. “You’re staying

here. I can call Jake later. I don’t want you out there, alone. It isn’t safe.”

“Alexander, I’ll be fine. Let me. I want to. You have to let me go.”

But he was pulling up the hem of my skirt; admittedly, it was short enough that this

was hardly difficult to do. But this overblown control, for the very first time, felt
constricting. His palms slid possessively over the rounded globes of my ass, pulling me
against his big, hard body. His fingers explored, sliding into the damp hollow between
my legs, finding the slippery heat. “You’re wet for me,” he whispered, and his breathing
had grown heavier. “You want me.”

“Alexander,” I protested. I was wet. As always, for him. The minute I’d opened

my eyes to the black shine of his hair and the impressive, masculine contours of his
shoulders, I’d felt the stirring warmth, which was never hard to summon in Alexander’s
presence. But I needed some space from his dictatorial commands. I was still angry with
him for his increasing reluctance to let me into his work arena, after all we’d been
through, after the interview and the promises and our brief but astoundingly intense
history. I knew he was trying to let me down easy, that he was considering reassigning
me to mistress or some such. That somewhere along the line his plans for me had
changed.

I felt my own control – over everything – slipping. And I couldn’t breathe.

Stepping back from him, I felt his knuckles slide over the lightly swollen nub of my

clit. I gasped as I disengaged from him, pulling weakly at the hem of my skirt. I was
confused and disarmed by the muddling swell of emotion. This should have been easy,

this raging torrent of attraction. But the deeper into it we got, the more complicated it
felt. Mindless attraction was only the tip of the iceberg. Somewhere along the way, this
relationship had begun to expand into darker, swifter, more complex waters. “Stop,” I
said.

Alexander’s face was heartbreaking to me. He was equally hurt and angered by my

refusal. I turned from him, to block out the sight of his sullen glory. He was unsettling
me with his beauty. I needed to distance myself from him, to not break down or give in.
“I said I’m going out,” I told him. “I need to be alone for a while. I’ll call you later,
okay?” I reached for the bag I’d dropped somewhere in the middle of our tryst.

But Alexander walked over to the door of his bedroom and closed it. He leaned

against it, blocking my escape. “And I said no, Lila. There’s no need for you to go out
right now. You can be alone all you want, here. You can invite Eva over for lunch one
day. Claude will cook you anything you want. Anytime you want. Anything.”

My heart was pounding riotously, with some crazy cocktail of rage, lust and fear. I

knew he was controlling, I’d known it all along. But I didn’t know the extent of it. How
far would he go to stop me?

He remained motionless, his eyes darker than I’d ever seen them. I walked up to

him, standing in front of him. But I didn’t touch him. I wasn’t afraid of violence. I was
afraid touching him would undermine my resolve. I knew touching him would
undermine my resolve.

“Alexander. What is this? You can’t keep me here. I’m free to go whenever and

wherever I want. I’m not your goddamn prisoner!”

“Just give me twenty minutes,” he said. “That’s all I need to get my work done

today. We’ll go down to the hot tub together. Or out. Whatever you want.”

“What I want is for you to move away from that door and let me out! I need to

spend some time alone.” In fact, the feeling had passed. I would rather have agreed to
his suggestions, but I felt too far into this now to retreat. His behavior wasn’t acceptable,
that’s all there was to it. “You can’t force me to stay holed up in this apartment and never
leave. Seriously, who does that kind of thing? You’re acting like some kind of psycho. I
mean it, Alexander.”

Alexander did not move from the door, but he reached to touch an end strand of

my hair. He coiled a tangled curl. “I’m not forcing you to do anything. I’m asking you
to stay with me.” With one finger, he touched my chin and tilted my face up to his.
“Come on, Lila. Don’t walk out on me.” He didn’t sound like a psycho, I had to admit.
His voice was soothingly deep, crooning to me like I was the psycho, or some wild
animal about to bolt. “Stay with me, honey girl. I’ll do whatever you want. Anything
you ask.”

I eyed him warily. “Anything?”

“Anything.”

“Let me help you work. I want you to let me start my job today.”

His eyes narrowed, almost imperceptibly. There was a cautiousness in him that

confirmed all my suspicions before he even spoke. “Yeah,” he said. “About that.”
Loaded pause. “I was thinking that … after all that’s happened, and considering the
nature of our relationship, as it’s turned out, that maybe we might want to … reevaluate
your position. The thing is, Lila, you don’t really have to work. At all. Not now.”

I might have overreacted. The rush of emotions and predictions and confrontations

set me off. I glared up at him. “You’re firing me?”

“No, I’m not firing you. I’m telling you that I –”

“That you don’t want me to work for you anymore.”

“Only because we’re in a relationship now, Lila.”

“We were in a ‘relationship’ when you hired me in the first place, if I remember

correctly,” I said, hurt and angry that he would backtrack like this. “I want to work for
you anyway.”

“I’m just not sure if it’s a good idea. Now. I just think it might be best if we keep

this personal. Instead of professional.”

I was too irate to listen to this. “Oh, that’s just great,” I seethed. “I get it. Loud and

clear. You want to keep me locked up here in your bedroom to fuck me whenever you
feel like it. If I’m actually working and doing something productive, engaging my mind,
using my degree that cost the fucking earth, I might be unavailable when you’re feeling
horny. Your hard-on might go unaddressed for half an hour while I finish typing one of
your reports. I might even have to talk to people, or God forbid, I might have to leave

this fucking apartment to engage with the wider world. I might even have to use my
brain instead of just my body. You’d just hate that, wouldn’t you, Alexander?”

“Lila, that’s not what I fucking meant. I’m telling you that there’s no longer a need

for you to earn money. I’ll take care of it. I’ll take care of you.”

I’d lost all semblance of self-control. “What if I don’t want you to take care of me?

What if I want to take care of myself? What if I want to take care of you? Did you ever
think of that?”

He looked a little stunned by my reply, like he hadn’t, in fact, thought of anything

like that before.

And I was too furious to wait for his answer. “Fine, Alexander. Go ahead and fire

me. If that’s what you really want to do, then go right ahead. And I’ll tell you what I
really want to do: go out. I’ve got some job-hunting to do. And some fresh air to
breathe. Now please get out of my way so I can get started.”

“Lila, for fuck’s sake –”

He reached for my hand but I shook him off. “And I’ve changed my mind about

dinner. I don’t want to eat with you tonight. I’m going out. With friends.”

I didn’t bother mentioning I only had one close friend and it was more than likely

she was working or had other plans. Who knew? I hadn’t even called her in weeks.
She’d probably moved on and forgotten about me altogether.

Alexander stood there, watching me. He folded his arms across his chest in an

aggressive stance. From the place where he’d dropped it by the window, his computer
pinged with a new email message alert. “Go on,” I said. “Answer your emails. Placate
your underlings with your important advice.”

“Lila, be reasonable. There’s no need to get all fucking crazy on me. I’m asking you

to let me take care of you, and to stay. It’s hardly cruel and unusual punishment. We
can talk about this.”

Damn him with his low voice and thick black hair, curling gently around his ears,

flicking in uneven strands. And his face, all beseeching and remorseful. His body, hard
and gloriously sculpted, with his jeans slung low on his hips, unbuttoned, revealing the
tantalizing arrow line of dark hair. But I denied my urges. There was something not at

all right about the submission he demanded of me. I was trapped. And now I was
rendered useless, save for one purpose. It was clear that he wasn’t about to let me leave,
whether I wanted to or not. He could mollify me with calm requests, but it wasn’t
enough. “Get out of my way, Alexander.”

“I’m not letting you leave like this, Lila. Let’s sit down and –”

“I don’t want to sit down! And it’s not up to you to let me do anything! Get out of

my way, Alexander

. I mean it.” I pushed at his shoulder, in an attempt to move him but he

was probably twice my weight and a good six inches taller, not to mention strong as hell.

“Lila,” he growled, in a futile attempt to stop me, and calm me. His arms wrapped

around me in a stronghold, not forcefully, but with extreme, absolute strength. I was
struggling, pushing against him but his hold was unbreakable. He slid down to a sitting
position, cradling my squirming, writhing, uncontrolled body in his lap, forming a cage
with his muscular arms and legs. I might have been crying in my frustration with the
comfort he provided, even in this imprisonment of sorts. I wanted him to want me like
this, obsessively, possessively. I loved him too much. I wanted to break free and still
crawl into his body and soul and live there forever.

He was wiping my tears, holding my wrists in one of his fists to stop me from

lashing out. He was kissing my face and my lips as he whispered a litany of calming,
soothing promises. “You’re all right, honey girl. I’ll come with you, wherever you want
to go. I love you, did you know that? Do you know how much I love you? I can’t see
straight I love you so much. I can’t fucking bear the thought of you walking out that
door and into the cold streets full of madmen and darkness and back alleys and fucking
craziness without me there to protect you. I want to protect you so much. I want to keep
you safe. I want to do everything for you, sweet girl. Come on, you’re all right. Don’t
cry. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

His breath and his words were drugging me, an exotic elixir that leeched warmth

into my heart, thawing my rage, turning it into something else altogether. I let him kiss
my parted lips in supplicating little nips that grew deeper, longer. His tongue touched
mine gently at first, licking into my mouth. His kiss was soft yet firm, demanding.
Alexander was completely in charge, as always, convincing me with the eloquence of his
fire and his perfect allure that I needed him, that I wanted him beyond reason. The lick
of his tongue was feeding tiny darts of pleasure into me, to the tips of my breasts and the

dewy, softening heat between my thighs. My skirt had ridden up during our tussle,
barely concealing me, and I was sitting on the half-open button fly of his jeans. The hard
textures of the straining denim and the cold buttons against my sensitive, moistening
flesh made me moan into his mouth.

“That’s my girl,” he crooned. “You’re so beautiful, Lila. I love you so much, sweet

girl. You taste so fucking good. Come on, that’s it. Let me hold you. Let me kiss you.”

I was writhing now for an entirely different reason, in gentle, circling grinds. He’d

released my hands and I realized one of my fists was twined in his hair, the other pressed
against his chest, sliding lower, down his flat, muscled stomach. To the buttons of his
jeans, which I unfastened blindly as I sucked on his tongue. He maneuvered us, pushing
his jeans lower to release himself. My echoing rage had refocused into a flaring, white-
hot need. I climbed onto him, straddling his hips, grabbing his massive, fully engorged
length, grasping and working him, rubbing myself against the beautiful, substantial
hardness of him. I was still mad at him and my fury now translated into pure greed for
pleasure. My pleasure. He had unbuttoned the shirt I wore and was fingering my
nipples, twirling and pulling them into tight peaks as his slippery kisses grew hungrier.
The pinching pain delivered by his fingers made me moan louder and sent ripples of
sweet fire to my fluttering core. I wanted him there. I wanted to ride him and fuck him
almost viciously. I was not gentle as I cupped him from below, forming a cage of my
own, squeezing as I guided the slick, broad head of his cock to the folds of my sex, using
him to caress my clit in pressing, rhythmic glides as I moved against him. As determined
as I was to give myself pleasure, I could tell that my selfish, feverish approach was
arousing him beyond belief. His cock was as hard as silk-covered stone and his chest rose
and fell with heavy breaths. I impaled myself by velvety, star-studded degrees,
moistening his length with the wetness of my own desire to gain more of him.

“Oh, God. Lila. You feel so fucking unbelievably good,” he groaned as I rose up then

slid down the full length of him until he was fully inside me. His hands fell to my hips
and I held them there.

I

was in control now. I rubbed my full breasts against the hair-roughened surface of

his chest. I kissed and bit his lips and his neck. And I rode him like a rodeo hero, finding
the exact angle I wanted, sliding along his rigid length, arching until only the tip of him
was inside me, torturing him with wiggling teases, taking a little more, then sitting
harder onto him, squeezing him with my inner muscles to pull him deeper. All the

while, he watched my face, his eyes half-drowsed and half-feral with pleasure.

“You’re a bully, you know,” I whispered, as once again I lowered myself fully onto

his thick, hot cock, clenching around him, sitting still aside from the squeezing,
undulating pressure, reveling in my own power over him.

He groaned.

“You can come with me when we go out,” I told him, kissing his lips before

catching his plump lower lip between my teeth, biting gently into the soft flesh as I lifted
my hips. He almost slid free of me. But I held him in place, circling and pleasuring my
budded clit with his throbbing shaft before taking him fully once again into my tight,
silky sheath. “On one condition.” I nipped his earlobe, whispering into his ear. “I’m
keeping my job. I’m going to work with you and be with you and help you. And
sometimes, when I feel like it, I’m going to get myself off, just like this, right on your
desk. I’m going to use you, like you use me. I’m going to love you, like you love me.
And I’m going to make love to you wherever and whenever I want.”

Again, I teased him, rising up until he slipped from the warm, wet embrace of my

body. To this, Alexander reacted. With practically-inhuman strength, he lifted me and
laid me onto my back in a move that was as gentle and controlled as it was
uncompromising. Laying himself onto me, he entered me with forceful, total perfection,
pushing his thick cock as deep as I could take him. Then he pulled almost all the way
out, mimicking my actions, again thrusting into me with punishing fervor. He bit my
earlobe, as I’d done to him, whispering, “You’ll let me indulge my obsession, and to
protect you as I see fit. And I’ll agree to try to employ you. I can’t guarantee that this
will work for me, though. I’m too close, too deep. I need to be able to focus on my
companies, without distractions. And you, my sweet Lila, are more of a distraction than I
can handle.”

He thrust again, as though to illustrate a point. His hands were on my ass, holding

me in squeezing handfuls up as he drove into me, ensuring complete possession. His
fingers worked me from behind, spreading me and pressing barely into the secret pucker
as his driving plunges found sweet, sleek friction inside me. His pounding vigor was
relentless, almost savagely thick and deep. Delicious agony gave way to a climbing, tense
beauty. The pumping glide of Alexander’s big cock seemed to force the pleasure into me
in weighty, potent bursts that found me moaning and pleading for everything he had to

give. “Oh, God, it’s too much. I’m coming, Alexander, I’m coming. More, give me more.
Please, oh, please. Oh, God, oh, please.”

My climax began as a high peak of accumulating ecstasy that held in a feverish

swell. Then the pleasure erupted into a wild torrent of blissful, clenching spasms that
milked Alexander’s orgasm from his body in hot, wet pulses. He groaned with his
release: a low, tortured growl against my neck. Then he went still and heavy, his cock
twitching out the last vestiges of his rapture inside me.

After, we lay still for a while, sated and replete, riding the rush, allowing it to glide

and to mellow. Physically, we were profoundly connected. And it went deeper than
that. I felt Alexander to the core of my being. I savored his weight and his warmth to
the depths of my soul. To feel him like this, protective yet conquered, our arms and legs
entwined, our hair tangled, the slickness of our lovemaking like a luscious, life-giving
bond, I could forgive him his faults. His overbearing dominance. His over-
protectiveness. I could see from this vantage point that his faults were all about his love
for me and his desire to keep me close, and safe. I understood why he acted the way he
did, and I knew what fueled his concern. From within the scope of my own
vulnerabilities, I realized I not only accepted his shielding, compulsive tactics: I craved
them. We could argue about his obsession and his way of managing it, but here and now,
with his big, male body on me and in me, dozing in a haze of post-coital satisfaction, all I
could feel was my love for him. My devotion. He was everywhere and everything.

I kissed his face and he stirred, levering his weight with his arms. “I’m crushing

you,” he murmured, kissing me tenderly. “I love you. God, how I love making love to
you. I want to live inside you, just like this.” He pushed his softened shaft deeper into
me, kissing me again in leisurely, lusty bites and licks. His tongue found ever more
intimate angles, just tasting me, gently exploring, as though I was the most exotic fruit
he’d ever come across. “I’m not done with you yet,” he said. Positioned as we were,
with my legs still wrapped around him, I could tell that his cock was beginning to harden
again, already. Just the sensation of all that, swelling inside me, made me feel happy.
Lucky. He felt so good, so spectacularly male.

At that moment, his email alert pinged and my stomach made a little growling

sound. I thought he might be distracted by the call of his subjects, but instead he said,
“You’re hungry.”

I smiled at him, pleased that I was his priority. “A little.”

“What’s it to be for my beautiful, insatiable, magical Lila? Filet mignon? Chocolate

cake? Anything you want. Your wish is my command.”

I thought about it for a minute, loving the mesmerized adoration in his eyes. Mine.

Like this, he was mine. “Ice cream,” I said. “I want ice cream.”

His face lit up. “I have ice cream. Butterscotch swirl. And whipped cream.”

“That sounds perfect,” I told him, kissing him because I loved him madly and it was

an amazing feeling. So new, so head-over-heels, in-at-the-deep-end, scary-good
amazing. Like this, nothing could touch us.

Alexander pulled himself from my body. Very carefully, he lifted me up. He

carried me to his bed, setting me onto the cool sheets and fluffing the pillows before
arranging me against them. Then he leaned down to take a nipple into his mouth,
sucking and licking unhurriedly before moving to the other one. He feasted on my
breasts until my nipples were hard and pink. “Wait here,” he ordered, his eyes bright.
“I’m going to feed you, and I want you completely naked when I get back, all right?” His
pulled on the low-slung jeans he still half-wore and he got up and walked to the door,
opening it and disappearing.

It wasn’t difficult to fulfill his demand; I slipped off the skirt that had been bunched

around my waist and ripped at the seam during our frenzy.

Our first argument, and we’d weathered it mostly unscathed.

While I waited for him, I basked in the rays of sunlight that striped the bed, and

listened to the steady fill of Alexander’s inbox as his computer chirped from the corner as
though demanding attention. I couldn’t help feeling a sense of bittersweet triumph,
listening to the sound of his minions, seeking his attention. I’d won, in a way. I was the
one he was lavishing with attention. The minions could wait until I was appeased and
satisfied. I was his priority and his obsession.

And I was glad he’d agreed to at least try to work with me. I’d get to watch him at

his game, emperor of the empire, and be with him during the days as well as the nights.
The work itself was exciting to me, but even more, I was elated that I’d convinced
Alexander not to cast me out, not to put me on some distant pedestal. I wanted him to
trust me and to trust himself.

I hoped he could.

Alexander

Jake was getting impatient, like they all were. He’d have to wait, at least for

another hour or two. My priorities hadn’t exactly changed; it was more like they’d been
blown out of the fucking water. I’d checked in from time to time, made a few critical
phone calls, given the odd decisive hard word to a weak link when the need arose. I’d
been building these systems for more than ten years. I’d selected and trained my staff
carefully for good reason. I should be able to take a week or two off – or three – if I
fucking felt like it, and not have the whole goddamn thing crumble to the ground in
ruins. I’d slogged away for years to make sure my interests had solid foundations and
impeccable records. But there were always glitches that needed experienced problem
solving. Jake was up to speed but he was still young. I’d pin his mistakes on that, for
now. My brother was a loose cannon and always had been. It was part of the reason I
gave him a job and put him in charge of his own company. That way, at least I could
keep an eye on him. He was a punk who didn’t follow rules, inside the boardroom or out
of it. His style was reckless, I knew that only too well. With women, with life in
general. Sometimes a dose of recklessness worked in business. Sometimes it gave you an
edge. This time it had backfired. The insider-trading fiasco at his company was coming
to a head. It was time for me to step in, get rid of a few bad seeds and placate the
authorities with solid numbers, with rolling heads and, if necessary, with money.

My nubile nymph wanted a slice of the action, and as far as I was concerned she

could have anything she wanted. I was in so deep I would have appointed her president
of the fucking company if she made the request into a particularly sublime donut-hold of
opportunity. I knew I wanted her with me. But I also knew things could get very
complicated very quickly with her around. My head – or, more precisely, my heads –
were pointed in one forward direction whenever she happened to flick me a sultry
glance. Or whisper a pouting little command. Or scald me with a shimmery, light touch
of her fingertips. In the office, that kind of coercion or lack thereof could be downright
fucking dangerous. Ruinous, even.

I didn’t trust myself.

Today, I didn’t have subversive intentions, not at all. Just the desire to fulfill her

and lull her so thoroughly that I could take my leave for a few hours to sort out my
brother’s problems.

I filled two bowls with ice cream and put the whipped cream can under my arm to

carry upstairs.

She’d obeyed.

Fuck

.

She had the power to stun me and energize me simultaneously. I couldn’t even

think, I could only look, and absorb all that. Lust so potent it was almost painful,
stabbing into me like hot, sharp knives. She was reclined on the bed where I’d left her,
curled slightly on her side in the sun, her honey-blond hair a cascade of brilliant spun
gold. Her curved hip glowed white, the outline of her both elegant and naughty,
somehow, her femininity a perfect blend of sexy womanliness and mischievous
girlishness. She was still piqued by our argument, I could see this, but the edges of her
ire had softened. She’d slung her arm behind her head so her breasts were raised and
bouncy-looking. Lush. Like milky, ripe peaches. Her nipples were still beaded from my
hungry mouth.

“Hi,” she breathed.

“Hi,” I said, walking up to her, sitting down beside her, setting the bowls of ice

cream and the can of whipped cream on the beside table. She adjusted, sliding over to
make room for me. Her legs parted as she sat up and I could see that her pussy was still
slick with my cum and slightly swollen from my eager, forceful possession. I went to the
bathroom and wet a washcloth with warm water, wringing it out. Then I went back to
sit beside her. “Lie back.” I had plans and was more interested in her taste than my
own. Gently, I rubbed her clean with the cloth, taking my time, opening her and
savoring the sight of her rosy, juicy beauty. “There,” I said, once I was satisfied.

I tossed the cloth to a chair and picked up a bowl. Slowly, I fed her a spoonful of

the ice cream, watching her mouth open. Her plump, perfect lips closed around the
silver spoon, the creamy white ice cream melting on her tongue. I kissed her, licking a
taste.

“I don’t get whipped cream?” she asked, pouting.

“Sure you do.” I grabbed the can, giving it a shake. “Where do you want it?”

“Take off your jeans and I’ll show you.” My dirty girl and I were on the same

wavelength. I followed her command, kicking my jeans off. I stood in front of her and
she feathered her fingers across the head of my ridiculously rigid cock. “Put some on
here,” she smiled shyly, yet the glimmer of our small conflict shone in her eyes.
Something about the challenge in her hardened my cock even more. I wanted her to take
out all her feminine frustrations on me. Right now.

I climbed onto the bed with her, my elbow propped near her knees. “Soon,” I said.

“First I want to put some here.” I eased a little of the cream onto her nipple in a neat
swirl, then the other. And I bent down to take it, to suck her clean, to draw that sweet
flesh into my mouth, to lave my tongue across the delicate bud, and scrape my teeth
tenderly until she moaned and ran her fingers through my hair.

“That feels so good,” she cooed.

I sucked her other nipple clean, going slow. I could have sucked Lila’s nipples for

hours. The taste of them made me feel like the king of the world. She was beginning to
arch and to writhe in pleading little movements, like she does when she gets all hot. Her
legs had parted and her pussy looked like a moist, pink flower.

“Put some on you,” she said, her voice rasped with passion yet pure and bell-toned,

like she was a fallen angel.

“First you,” I said, spurting the cream onto her luscious, blooming sex.

Fuck, I could hardly stand this. I’d gotten my rocks off less than half an hour ago,

but I was so hard I thought I might explode as soon as she touched me. Almost
tentatively, I put some of the whipped cream along the length of my cock, making a
thorough job of it, with extra on the head.

“You look good enough to eat,” she giggled. “I can’t wait for a taste.”

Lila watched me as I moved closer, adjusting my position so I could reach her as she

sucked me.

Holy fucking hell.

Her tongue licked in coy little flicks, barely touching me at first. She grew bolder,

taking the head of my cock into her mouth, sucking strongly. “Mmm,” she said. “So

good.”

I lowered my head, licking the cream from her, taking it all, greedy to get to the

main course. The sugary cream was nothing compared to the taste of Lila. She was
sweeter than honey. And I couldn’t get enough. I pulled her closer, holding her hips in
my clasp and she moved with me, lying half-astride me, taking my cock deeply into her
mouth as I ate at her. Her mouth made little sounds of greedy suction as she licked me
clean while her fingers stroked and squeezed. I sucked her hungrily, flicking her clit
with my tongue before delving deep into her sticky warmth, repeating the sequence in
strong, rhythmic pulls. She was mewing and wriggling. I knew she was getting close.
Her sex was quivering, her little nub hard and swollen. I drew it into my mouth with
insistent, tugging pressure as I slid two fingers knuckle-deep into her pussy, swiveling
gently.

She took me deeper, the insatiable little minx. The pleasure was severe, filling me

like hot liquid. I was on the verge of bursting with it and I was glad I had already come
once; I could hold onto this blinding, slippery, surreal heaven for a few more seconds.
Until it was too much. Until I felt the overload begin to spool out of me in savagely-
intense rockets of ecstasy. She bucked and moaned just as I started coming in hot bursts
against the back of her throat. Her pussy clenched tightly around my fingers in succulent
compressions and I could taste her orgasm as a light, creamy tang. She kept sucking me
as I came, taking all of it, kissing and girlishly suckling my cock until I was completely,
totally, divinely spent.

She went limp then, as spent as I was.

I wanted her to come again. I wanted to prolong her ecstasy into one more peak, so

she could ride the drifting wave into a drowsy, blissful recovery. I lifted her carefully,
laying her back into the pillows. Her eyes were closed.

I knew how sensitive she would be and I was gentle. I licked her again in a slow,

sweeping stroke and she protested feebly, shaking her head and pushing at mine. “I
can’t,” she breathed.

“Shhh,” I whispered. “You can. One more. I’ll be so gentle. Feel me. Feel my

mouth kissing you so gently. Softly, like this.” With my tongue, I licked her pussy open.
I concentrated on the engorged little nub, tenderly exposing it, touching the tip of my
tongue to it once, and again, until she was moaning for more. With my fingers, I dipped

into her, sliding in, curling my fingertips to stroke her g-spot as I eased her into yet
another rippling climax.

“Oh, Alexander,” she cried softly, repeating my name as I prolonged her pleasure

into one last undulating swell. I kissed her mouth leisurely, then climbed up to lay next
to her. She had already drifted into a light, dazed sleep.

What I wanted to do was to sleep beside her, to hold her in my arms for hours. To

stroke her hair and kiss her skin. I simply could not get enough of this girl. I wondered if
I ever would. I could have just watched her sleep, the graceful, youthful lines of her face,
the curl of her long eyelashes against her flushed cheeks. She looked so impossibly
young, so extraordinarily beautiful.

I knew I had an unreasonable attachment to her, and an overblown protective

instinct for reasons we’d already discussed. And I couldn’t shake the desire to keep her
close to me, where I could keep track of her and keep her safe. The thought of her
wandering, alone, on the streets, where any maniac could reach her, or speak to her, or
touch her.

Or somehow steal her.

It was more than I could fucking handle.

I allowed myself a few minutes with her, so she could feel me close to her. Then I

silently rose from the bed. I put on my jeans and a shirt and grabbed my laptop. I took
my key ring from a dresser drawer and, after quietly closing the door behind me, I locked
it.

Lila

The lock clicked.

The taste of my terror was bitter and metallic, like blood.

“Open the door!” he yelled, rattling the doorknob and pounding with his fist.

Huddling in the corner, I could smell my own doom as a deathlike, floral perfume. I
glanced at the window, but he’d nailed it shut after I’d slipped through it the last time he
forced entry. He’d removed the lock but I’d, somehow, managed to push the bed in front
of the door to block it, knowing only too well that he was strong enough to break down
all my barriers.

As he was doing now.

The wooden legs of the bed began to slide, making a mournful, dull squeak. She

wouldn’t hear it. My mother would be dead to the world this time of night, bottle laying
next to her on the old couch. She might even be cradling it, as she often did, like an
empty, glass infant.

No one would stop him. No one would hear my screams, I knew this. So I kept

myself quiet, even when he slipped through the crack, closing the door behind him,
looming and large. He held the key in his hand, the only key, which he used to lock the
door before slipping it into his pocket. He wasn’t especially tall but he was stocky, solid.
With lank, dirty-brown hair that hung almost to his shoulders.

“Why’d you go and push the bed against the door again?” he said, his voice gravelly

and terrifyingly devoid of emotion. “You know that doesn’t work.”

I stared at him, my fear giving the scene an almost ethereal glow, like heaven was

waiting for me on the other side of this experience. Like death was close at hand. Maybe
he would kill me. He never had before, but I wouldn’t have put it past him. Anyone who
could do what he did to an innocent, defenceless ten-year-old child had all the power of
God, for all I knew. An evil God. An all-powerful being who always got his way.

He was walking towards me, pulling his belt from its loops. “I don’t want to have

to use this. You do as I say without making a fuss this time. Or you’ll feel this, hard.”

I stood up. He’d whipped me before and it had been a week before I’d been able to

sit down. I’d had to do my homework standing up. Miss Mills at the library had asked
me about it but I’d told her I fell off my bike. I didn’t have a bike, but she didn’t know
that.

“Take off your clothes.”

My hands were shaking as I began to unbutton my plaid blouse. It had holes at the

elbows but I’d patched them with an old blanket that was almost the same color. Two
boys at school had laughed at me and called me “trash”.

I took off my pants, too, and my underpants. And I stood naked in front of him.

“You’re too skinny, girl,” he said critically as he circled me. “I need to fatten you up

some.” I flinched when he touched my hair, which hung to my waist. “You have the
prettiest hair. So soft and blond.”

I closed my eyes as his hand slid to my face, my neck, which he circled with his

fingers before gliding his rough touch to my shoulder. He touched the tiny buds of my
breasts with his calloused fingers. “Open your eyes,” he said. “Unzip me, girl. You
know what to do. Keep your eyes open.”

I felt the bite of bile in my throat. I knew that taste, of horror and fear. If there had

been anything in my stomach, I would have wretched. I unzipped his pants and took his
cool, flaccid horribleness in my hands. “Run your fists up and down me, like I like. Get
me really hard.”

I did as he asked, forcing my thoughts away from him. To the book I was reading,

about a girl who runs away from home and finds happiness.

It didn’t take long. “That’s enough. Now go and lie on the bed.”

I felt removed from myself, like I was floating above, watching my small, slim

waifish body perform for him.

“Open your legs,” he ordered, gruffly excited. He was holding himself, working his

own body, feasting his eyes on my vulnerability. “Now touch yourself.”

My eyes fell closed as I felt my fingers touch my secret place. And I screamed when

a jolting pain pierced the left side of my head. He was leaning over me, his fist in my
hair. “I said keep your eyes open. Look at me. Watch me.”

His breath was foul, his hair dirty. It took every shred of courage I possessed not to

close my eyes and all my other senses to this routine nightmare.

It was a thin comfort to know that he wouldn’t fully take me. I didn’t know why. I

knew he’d spent time in prison and I wondered if he’d done that before, to some other
girl, and been punished for it. He seemed content with this level of torture: making me
touch him and touch myself as he did what he did.

“Spread your legs wider. Open. Use your fingers.”

He stood between my legs, one of his hands found my own, touching me, moving

my fingers. His other hand was on himself. He was close to me, close enough to touch
me, to press against me but not deeply. His pace quickened and his face began to contort
with his pleasure. White foam spurted from him onto my stomach as he grunted his
relief. With his hand, he rubbed his foam onto my skin as though to mark me, to stain
me.

“There you go,” he said. “Good girl. Just like you like it.”

He zipped himself up, took his belt and began to leave. “Don’t blockade the door

again or I’ll whip you good. Tomorrow I’m going to teach you something new, and
you’re gonna do exactly what I tell you. And don’t forget, if you tell anybody about our
little secret, I’ll fucking kill your mother, like I killed that rabbit.”

The door closed. And the lock clicked back into place.

$

I awoke with a start, groggy, naked, afraid. It took me several seconds to get my

bearings, to realize that I wasn’t at home in the tiny, rundown shack that had defined my
sad childhood. It was after that night, the one I’d dreamed of, that I’d run. I’d spent the
next night in a chicken coop, and the next in a train station, where I’d almost been stolen
by a straight-looking commuter who was anything but. I’d learned how to hide, and I’d
learned how to run.

But that had been a long time ago.

Now, I was in New York, in Alexander’s plush and airy penthouse apartment.

And I was alone.

“Alexander?” My voice sounded weak and edged with panic. It had been several

years since I’d had a dream like that. I wondered why those deeply-buried traumas I’d
banished from my waking consciousness long ago would reoccur to me now.

I got up and called to him again but there was no answer. His computer was gone

and so was he. I felt mildly riled by this discovery but it was understandable, I decided:
he had emails to answer and he didn’t want to wake me. He was just being considerate, I
told myself. He’d promised me he’d try. He’d left me to doze, then he’d be expecting
me to join him in his office. He’d begin to teach me, and train me.

I went to Alexander’s shower, scrubbing away the seedy, horrific memories.

After drying myself with one of Alexander’s oversized towels, I grabbed a fitted

knit black dress and for some reason, even though it wasn’t particularly cold, my fur-
lined jacket. I wanted something thick and buffering to wrap around myself, for
comfort. I pulled on my boots and picked up my bag, slinging its strap across my
shoulder. I would go to his office so he could make good on his promise. He could start
training me today.

The dream fringed my awareness darkly, stealing a degree of brightness from the

day. I wanted to see Alexander, and reassure myself that he was real, and that I was
safe. I walked to the door and turned the knob.

At first I thought it was stuck.

My heart skipped a beat as the cold terror bubbled up. I tried again, twisting

frantically.

He’d locked me in.

$

I might have blacked out for a minute, from the residual, billowing fear that was a

product of my upbringing. The surging intensity of it, in fact, surprised me. It was the
one thing I hated more than any other: that feeling of being locked in with no escape.

It unhinged something in me.

I couldn’t believe Alexander – my Alexander – would do such a thing. This wasn’t a

door to the outside world. This was his bedroom door. Downstairs was his apartment
door which led to the elevator and the hall to his office. There was a doorman and a
locked, guarded front door of the building. No one could get to me here. This wasn’t
about my protection.

This was about my entrapment.

He didn’t want me to leave. He wanted full control over my whereabouts, to such

an extent that he would lock me up.

It was too much.

I thought of calling him but I was too angry. He was the very last person I wanted

to speak to at that moment. It didn’t matter that he was doing this for his own peace of
mind. The bottom line was he didn’t trust me on some level. He wanted to control me
and own me and dominate me, which was all well and good when it was consensual and
in the name of sexual satisfaction. This was something different. This was beyond the
scope of what I could tolerate.

I picked up the intercom that buzzed down to Alexander’s kitchen. I knew

Alexander would be in his office, but I thought Claude, Alexander’s chef, might be here.
He worked some evenings, preparing food, cleaning and arranging Alexander’s travel
plans, if he had any. I’d met him only once, in passing. “Hello?” I said into the speaker.

Nothing. The swirls of anxiety were surging through my veins like ice-fire.

“Hello? Claude, are you there?” I could hear the shaded anxiety in the echo of my

voice.

A crackle. Then a voice. “Hello?” He seemed surprised to hear a female voice. Of

course he would have been expecting Alexander’s orders, not mine.

“Claude, it’s Lila.” I almost screamed at him, Let me out. Please help me. I need you to

come and let me out

. I fumbled with a request that might sound reasonable. “Uh, I

wondered if you could bring me something to drink. Yes, a drink. Alexander said I
could order anything I liked, if you don’t mind bringing it up, that is.”

“Not at all,” he said. “Should I call Alexan—”

“No.” My answer was too sharp, too urgent. I made a point of at least attempting

to smooth my panic. “No, that’s not necessary. He’s working and I’m waiting for him in
his room. I’d just like a glass of champagne, if it’s no trouble. If you have some there.”

“Of course. We always keep champagne. I’ll bring it right up, Miss Lila.”

“Thank you. Oh, and you’ll need to bring a key if you have one. The door seems to

be locked.”

He paused at this, then gave a stilted, “Of course.” I could only hope he’d obey my

wishes and refrain from alerting Alexander. But then he probably knew that Alexander
didn’t like – to put it mildly – to be interrupted when he was in his office; this detail
would be my salvation. My release. My freedom.

I had to get out of here. The panic continued to roll and to coil itself into my gut.

I paced as I waited. My heart raced erratically. I willed myself to calm down,

reminding myself that there was no need to overreact. But my psyche didn’t seem to
want to listen. It was too ingrained, this fear, too unruly. Too fresh, after the horrible
dream. As I paced, I realized that the sound of the lock clicking into place would have
summoned my subconscious fears. That’s why I’d had the nightmare, because Alexander
had insisted on imprisoning me, whether to stop me from working with him or just
because he was an overbearing, unreasonably-obsessive tyrant, I didn’t know. I didn’t
care. All I wanted to do was escape from this closed room, which seemed to be
shrinking. I could almost feel the walls closing in. My skin felt clammy and cold with
sweat and my mind whirled in full-blown panic.

A soft knock rapped at my brain. “Miss Lila?”

I rushed over to the door. I heard the key click into place. Those few seconds felt

unfathomably long as Claude fiddled with the lock, finally releasing it. The relief I felt
when that door swung open was indescribable. I almost threw my arms around Claude
in a fit of uncontrolled gratitude. Claude was tall and thin, and mild-mannered. His
eyes were a clear sky blue, giving him a look of cleanness, like he was a tee-totalling
vegan or something, unsullied by sin and substance. He looked wholly surprised by the
state of me, with my luxurious coat and wild eyes. His expression was wary, cataloguing
his role in this unexpected scene. I could see the thoughts play across his face: Should I
have unlocked this door? Was it locked for a reason? Will Alexander be angry? Will I get fired

and lose my ridiculously fat salary considering all I do is occasionally cook and clean for a filthy
rich mogul with questionable scruples and an imprisoned, crazed sex slave?

Or some such.

Claude placed the bottle of champagne on ice and two glasses on the table outside

the bedroom door, clearly reticent about entering the room itself. “I should probably
give him a call—” he began.

“No,” I said quickly. Too quickly. But I continued, unable to stop myself. “Please,

Claude. Please. Please don’t call him.” Then, I tried my best to smooth his concern, to
lay whatever qualms he might have been having to rest. “There’s no need. Alexander
will be back any minute. I’ll tell him how happy I am that you brought me champagne.
And so quickly. Thank you, Claude. Alexander and I are celebrating. I start work on
Monday.”

I was babbling, I realized. Claude continued to watch me with obvious confusion.

Who was I? Was I really Alexander’s employee? And if so, what was I doing locked away in his
bedroom?

There were too many odd questions floating around to work through. It was

easier to just ignore them, to let him be on his way.

I stood in the doorway, watching him retreat, making sure the door stayed open. I

poured myself a glass of the cold, bubbling liquid as I stood there, and I drank it in thirsty
gulps, feeling better already. I took the new iPhone Alexander had bought me out of my
bag and placed it on top of the empty glass. I didn’t want him calling me. Or tracking
me.

After drinking one more glass of champagne, I closed the door behind me and

walked down the grand, curving staircase. I didn’t have to enter the kitchen to make my
way to the front door. Silently, I let myself out.

$

It felt strange to be back on the busy streets again, alone. It had now been several

weeks since I’d been away from the company of Alexander for more than brief
separations. The streets seemed dirtier than I remembered, and more chaotic. I’d grown
accustomed to opulent order, after all, of an almost complete removal from the real
world.

I also wasn’t used to the extreme attention I seemed to attract. People noticed me,

and I wasn’t sure why. Sure, I was dressed in obviously-expensive clothing. My coat and
my boots were both to die for; these were the details the women noticed. Their eyes
followed me as I walked past, taking in the impeccable cut of my garment, the stylish
boots, and my long hair, I couldn’t help notice. Blond hair and expensive clothes were
hardly traffic-stopping in New York City, but I continued to feel like a freakish spectacle
as I walked along the streets, with no particular destination in mind.

I let my coat fall open to allow the late-afternoon air to cool me down. Between my

anxiety attack and my hasty escape, I felt flushed, and spooked. Several men stopped in
their tracks as I passed them, their eyes drinking in the shape of me, the tight-fitting and
very-short dress I wore. I was almost amused by their reactions. Was I really that
noticeable? I’d run my fingers through my hair after my shower but hadn’t bothered
drying or styling it, so it was long and loose, a little disheveled, like I’d just crawled out
of bed, which, come to think of it, I had. Could they sense my vulnerability, and my
newfound sexual awakening? Something about their expressions suggested to me that
they could. That on some base, primitive level they were reading my femininity and my
fertility despite all the layers of civilization we found ourselves mired in. I might have
been an unstable mess, but I was hot: this is what they noticed. I could see it in their
eyes. It was exactly the look I’d spent years trying to avoid by wearing thick,
unfashionable glasses and baggy, dull clothes. By stooping under the weight of books
and never making eye contact. Times had changed.

I stopped to look at the window display of a swanky furniture shop. The couches

and chairs were exotic-looking. Animal skins and leather. Maybe this was where
Alexander shopped, I thought, a pang of confused despair seeping into my bones.

Now one step removed from the bad dream and the locked door, a glimmer of calm

sanity was returning to me. But I was far from cured. That horrible dream had reignited
hidden, painful cloisters of my past that I’d hoped were well and truly behind me.
Something about the dream and the damage clung to me, like cold, wet, invisible leaves.
Damn it all. Maybe I needed therapy. I thought I’d managed to evade all that, to work
through these issues myself through study and hard work and convoluted avoidance
techniques. Why was it all returning to me now? When I thought I’d moved on?

My only answer to this question was that Alexander’s behavior had kicked up an

innate, survivalist defiance in me. My piece of mind and sense of safety had been
profoundly violated as a child, shattered many times over. As much as I loved the

protectiveness Alexander showed towards me, there was a line that had been crossed. It
pissed me off, too: I’d told him about all that. Had I mentioned how he, the monster, had
locked me up? Had I made it clear how terrifying that had been for me? That Alexander
knew

all that – or at least some of it – and still chose to lock me in his admittedly luxurious

prison, it just didn’t sit well. At all. I needed a break. I needed some time to think and
to breathe.

Still, I missed him. I missed the haven of him.

Of his apartment and his money.

Of his strong arms.

I missed his face.

Had I acted too rashly? Probably. The two glasses of champagne I’d chugged had

given me a frantic courage and, now, cast the city light in a soft, sparky glow. The fact
that I had no money and no phone seem less urgent than maybe it should have. I could
always go to Eva’s, I reasoned. She probably had another roommate by now, but I knew
she’d let me sleep on the couch if it wasn’t already being occupied. Or even in her bed, if
that

wasn’t already being occupied.

I didn’t feel like going there yet. In fact, after thinking it through, I decided I

wouldn’t go there. Alexander would look for me there. He knew where Eva lived and it
would be the first place he’d search. I wanted him to worry about me. I wanted him to
be anxious, after what he’d put me through.

What I felt was completely reckless. Utterly lost. Free, in the loosest sense of the

word. Not good free, entirely, but adrift.

“Wow,” a male voice said, diverting my attention. A man stood next to me, and he

was facing the window, but his head tilted towards me, stealing a glance. His eyes roved
my face, my lips, my hair, wandering to the low cut of my dress and the curve of my
breasts. “That leopard sofa is amazing.” He wasn’t looking at the sofa.

His eyes were green. He had dark blond hair and a business suit on. A nice one.

Expensive. He wasn’t excessively handsome but he was nicely groomed. He was making
the most of what he had. “My name’s Mick. Mick O’Neil.”

“Hi, Mick O’Neil.” I wasn’t feeling especially social. I turned back to the window.

But Mick O’Neil was persistent. “Can I buy you a drink? Or something to eat? I

was just going to that new fusion restaurant on the corner, and I’d love some company.
If you’re not busy.” He was a flirt, and his eyes were friendly, edged with undisguised
interest. He had that Irish thing going on, of smiling, open-faced eagerness. He seemed
harmless enough and I was hungry. Famished, in fact. In the end I hadn’t eaten much of
the ice cream, I remembered, feeling a stab of curling woe at the memory. Among other
things. Mick noticed the blush that rose to my cheeks as I recalled the only form of
nourishment I’d had so far today. Mick couldn’t have know what caused me to blush but
he seemed riveted by it. “You are incredibly beautiful,” he said.

I glared at him, suddenly wary.

He immediately backtracked, smiling apologetically. “I’m sorry. That was out of

line, maybe. It’s just that … you are. I couldn’t help noticing. I’ll try not to notice, if it
offends you. So, how about that drink? Will you join me? My treat. I hate eating
alone.”

“Sure,” I said, mindful of my empty wallet, my nonexistent bank account and my

craving for another glass of champagne. I was destitute, unemployed, at least
temporarily estranged from my perfect, obsessive billionaire boyfriend. What I felt like
doing was getting wasted. To forget about Alexander for a few hours. I wasn’t a big
drinker, after watching my mother slowly wither away and die from her disease, but I
knew I was nothing like her. I didn’t just want to forget my troubles, I wanted to have
fun

. Right now. Mick O’Neil seemed like a festive, upright sort of a guy. And he was

paying.

He started walking and I followed, falling into step beside him. “You haven’t told

me your name,” he said. “You don’t have to, of course, but since we’ll be having dinner
together, I’ll need to call you something. Just in case I need to say something like, ‘Pass
the butter, Miss Ridiculously Sexy’ or ‘Can I offer you another glass of wine, Gorgeous?’
See, I don’t want to offend you again.”

“Lila.”

He was a congenial guy with a sense of humor that might have appealed to me if I

hadn’t had the day I’d had. Make that the month I’d had. I was used to Alexander’s
lofty, almost-arrogant steadiness. I’d liked that about him, how we didn’t feel the need
for constant, banal conversation to fill the gaps; we’d been as comfortable with silence as

we had with words. Our personalities had fit together, somehow. His idiosyncrasies and
flaws had meshed with my own.

Until he went and fucked everything up.

We entered the restaurant, which was glinting with modernistic chrome and shiny

glass. Mick took my coat and hung it on a nearby hook. His jaw visibly dropped as he
took in the sight of my clinging mini-dress, but he caught himself, forcing his gaze
elsewhere. It was a dress Alexander had bought for me in Paris, to wear, he’d said at the
time, in private. You’re a goddess, he’d said when I tried it on. I can’t believe you’re real.
And you’re mine.

Efficient staff offered us a table, filled water glasses, gave us menus, recited specials,

took drink orders.

I sipped champagne and listened to Mick O’Neil’s chatter, wondering if Alexander

knew yet of my desertion. I looked at my watch, the gold one he gave me. In Paris. I
was surprised to see that almost two hours had passed since I’d left Alexander’s
apartment. He’d probably answered his emails by now. I pictured him returning to his
bedroom, finding me gone. The thread of satisfaction I felt, knowing he’d be frantic – no,
crazed

– when he found me missing, was laced with guilt, and sadness. I wanted him to

worry, yes, but I also wanted to comfort him. To reassure him. To explain to him that he
couldn’t act like that. Like a dictator who held the only key. I couldn’t handle that kind
of treatment. I didn’t want to be trapped, or locked up. It scared me. It scared me to the
depths of my lonely, broken soul.

I wanted to forgive him. I wished I could. He must have had a reason for doing

what he’d done, even after I’d tried to explain to him. Maybe I hadn’t explained well
enough. My thoughts felt muddled and hazed by the effects of my turmoil and the
alcohol I’d consumed.

“Lila?”

Someone was speaking to me. Mick O’Neil.

“Here, have the last of it,” he said, topping up my glass. “I can order another bottle

if you want.”

Oh, God, I’d drunk the whole bottle, while stewing over Alexander, feigning

interest in Mick O’Neil’s stories about his work as a stock broker and his seven half-

brothers. I’d tried to eat some of the sushi, but the more I drank the less hungry I felt.

Mick was sitting very close to me in the retro-style booth. So close, in fact, that his

thigh was touching mine. My dress, I noticed then, had ridden up to the very top of my
thighs. It was indecent, really, especially since I wore nothing underneath. “Lishen,
Mick,” I said, and was surprised to hear that my words sounded slurred. I made an effort
to steady myself. “Thanks so much for dinner, and the champagne. I really think I need
to get going now.” I tried to stand up but the room tilted, and I sat back down.

Mick O’Neal’s hand slid over my thigh, and the expression in his eyes changed,

almost imperceptibly. Like a shadow had drifted across his face. I recognized that look.
Intensity. Danger.

“Don’t go yet, sweetheart. We’re just getting started. Have another drink.” His

arm slung itself around my shoulders and his gaze was on my nipples, which were
clearly outlined by the thin knit fabric. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous. We could get a cab
together. I’ll take you anywhere you want to go. Come on, I insist.”

I was very drunk but I could still hear the warning bells, clanging loudly. Mick had

also been drinking. Whiskey. His hands were getting bolder and his manner had
changed. He no longer looked friendly. He looked focused. And very, very determined.

I wanted Alexander. I wanted him to rescue me, to keep me and hold me and

shield me. And not lock me up.

“Sure,” I said, a clawing sense of self-preservation kicking in. “Let me use the

ladies’ room first, then we’ll grab a cab.”

Summoning every ounce of self-control, I stood. I swayed slightly but managed to

grab my bag and walk towards the bathroom. Finding it, I glanced behind me, relieved
to see that the bathroom door, as well as that of the restaurant kitchen, were hidden from
view of Mick’s table. I went through the kitchen door. The room was hectically busy,
and crowded with restaurant staff. Some glanced at me curiously, but were too busy to
take much notice of me. I wandered through, finding a service entrance, which led out
to a back alley. It was dark outside now, and raining. I almost turned back when I
realized I’d forgotten my coat. But that would’ve been too obvious, of course. I couldn’t
go back for it.

Unsteadily, I made my way down the alley, turning in the opposite direction from

the animal-print furniture store. I turned another corner, walking down the side streets,
finding a dark step to sit on and let some time pass.

Was I losing my mind? Was I deliberately putting myself in harm’s way to get back

at Alexander? What kind of revenge was that: hurting myself to hurt him? What kind of
idiot puts on a dress like this, with nothing underneath, goes out and gets inebriated with
some amorous stranger whose intentions are pretty fucking clear? I’d known exactly
what I was doing. And I’d done it anyway.

My throat felt tight and achy. I felt the warm slide of tears on my cheeks, which

surprised me.

I sat on that step and cried. I sobbed like my heart was breaking. Maybe it was. A

couple walked past me, giving me a concerned glance. But I wiped my tears and smiled
at them. “I’m fine. Enjoy your night.” As I watched them turn the corner, the tears just
kept on streaming, like something had come loose in me. I’d never cried over my past,
not once. Not since the monster had whipped me for doing it. Ten years ago. That was
the last tear I’d shed for all the unfairness and the fear.

I sat there for a long time, until the night grew black and the rain fell steadily in

cold sheets.

I walked back towards Fifth Avenue, where Alexander’s building was located. I

wasn’t going to go there, but I wanted to get closer to it, to find a place to rest for a
while. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever go back to Alexander. I didn’t know. I was completely,
utterly lost.

When I neared Alexander’s block, I saw a small bar. It looked warm inside, with

red-tinted light shining through the small, rain-streaked windows. Trying to be as
inconspicuous as possible, I went in, finding a secluded corner table at the back. I was
cold to the bone and soaked to the skin. Still drunk. Hungry.

Eyes followed me but there was some baseball game playing on the TV, diverting

the attention away from me, which I was profoundly grateful for. The bartender walked
over to me. He was old, maybe sixty. He looked kind. Maybe he had a daughter, or a
granddaughter. I got the impression that I reminded him of someone. “You look like
you could use something to warm you up,” he said.

I gave him a weary smile.

He shuffled off, then returned with a large, steaming mug, which he placed in front

of me. “This one’s on the house, honey.”

“Thank you,” I said, shivering, picking up the cup in my hands, taking a sip. It was

hot, and sweet. Alcoholic, and strong. The liquid warmed me from within, and calmed
me by a single degree. I felt out of control, dizzy, and very, very tired. I leaned the side
of my head against the wall and closed my eyes.

After a while, I could hear and feel that someone had sat down next to me, and was

watching me, but it took me a few minutes to open my eyes.

At first I thought I was hallucinating. He looked so much like … but no, he wore

wire-rimmed glasses, and his hair was longer, and wavier. My eyes focused and I
recognized who it was.

“Lila, what are you doing here?” he asked.

It was Jake.

$

eBooks now available:

BILLIONAIRE (Part 1) by Juliette Jones

BILLIONAIRE (Part 2) by Juliette Jones

BILLIONAIRE (Part 3 & Part 4) by Juliette Jones

BILLIONAIRE (Part 5) by Juliette Jones

BILLIONAIRE (Part 6) by Juliette Jones

BILLIONAIRE (Part 7) by Juliette Jones

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BILLIONAIRE (Complete Book)

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Coming soon:

BILLIONAIRE (Book 2)