BILLIONAIRE

Part 2

by Juliette Jones

Copyright © 2013 Juliette Jones

All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced, distributed or scanned in any electronic

or printed form without permission.

BILLIONAIRE is a work of fiction. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious.

Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.

Cover art photo used under license from Shutterstock.com

First Edition: March 2013

BILLIONAIRE (Part 2)

Lila

It was more powerful than reason, whatever it was that was happening to me. I might have

lost my mind completely. I’d just had unprotected sex – six times – with a man I’d known for exactly

… one day.

And he was still inside me.

We had not left his apartment all morning. We’d slept in blissful post-coital dozes. He’d fed

me bites of chocolate and fruit. We’d showered twice. And we’d hardly disengaged. Throughout,

barely a moment had passed when his body was not somehow connected to some part of mine. The

stroke of his tantalizing tongue. His clever, insistent mouth, tasting every inch of me. The warm

comfort of his big, hard body sliding over mine, thrusting into me, so deep, so deliciously deep …

What astounded me most was the total abandon of it all. The way I had thrown away ten

million perfectly good years of evolution and reverted to a mess of primeval need the minute I’d laid

eyes on Alexander Wolfe. Forget the fifteen or so years of top-notch education, the Ivy League

degree, the modernistic caution that comes from layer upon layer of twenty-first century knowledge.

For this man I had willingly stripped bare and thrown myself at him with all the subtlety of a female

primate whose species was about to go extinct. If I’d been in a more boisterous state of mind, I might

have laughed at the sheer political incorrectness of my impromptu tryst. I almost mentally

apologized to Erica Jong and all the seventies feminists for throwing away four decades of hard

work. Here I was, happily impaled by my brand new boss who was now also, very definitely, my

intensely obsessive new lover. I half-expected the Mad Men production crew to be gathered in the

corner, cameras rolling.

I was returning to myself, still floating in a haze of superstrength endorphins, after having just

experienced the most mind-numbingly powerful orgasm of my life. It was true I hadn’t had that many

orgasms, before. Before Alexander. Not at all. Since I’d walked into his office yesterday afternoon,

however, my tally was escalating at an alarming rate. Which was only going to increase by at least

one, I had a feeling, before Alexander even thought about pulling out. He was still fully, massively

aroused. My body was clasped tightly around the impossible thickness of him, moistly locked and

still pulsing with the ebbing ripples of my release. But he had held on, just barely. And I had let him.

I knew by now that I could make him come if I wanted to. If I worked him and dug my

fingernails into him. If I rocked my hips against him just so as I wrapped my legs around him,

prohibiting any retreat. I had a feminine power over him that was satisfying beyond belief.

Alexander, for all his alpha bravado, was entirely at the mercy of my teasing lips, my naked breasts,

my snug, squeezing pussy.

That he simply could not resist me was as obvious as it was arousing. This realization had

unleashed my sexuality in full force. My former self – the one who had walked into Alexander’s

office only yesterday – had been like a meek, caged caterpillar confined to its chrysalis. That very

first sight of Alexander Wolfe had somehow broken me open. That image of his outrageous, swarthy

beauty, so intrigued by me, so receptive and so turned on, had set the butterfly of my sensuality not

only free but sky high and with a zealous desire to feed. That look in his eyes as he’d seen me,

licking his lips at the sight of my blooming, slippery sex, so ready for him, had unleashed a wild

thing. I was awakened, and I was hungry.

Not only that but I was greedy. I had learned that the second orgasm – and third – of any

particular sequence were equally delicious to the first, and differently so: the ecstatic spasms were

longer, less earth-shattering but silky and deep, exquisitely luxurious.

I wanted to come again.

I’d had no choice but to cling to him as my body rocked and writhed against him with the

force of my first climax. But aside from the insanely voluptuous clenching of my slick pussy around

his big, rock-hard cock, I’d kept myself relatively calm and submissive.

But I had other plans now.

We were lying side by side, as close as that position would allow. My leg was hitched over

his hip and he held my thigh with one of his strong, warm hands. My breasts were pressed lightly

against the broad, hair-roughened plane of his chest. Our heads rested on his ridiculously plush

pillows and his face was close to mine.

His face. Stunningly gorgeous, candidly divine. Not perfect but somehow perfectly

assembled. The black eyes, as I watched him stare back at me, were not black at all but instead a

very dark shade of brown. I could see from this close angle and in the stillness of the moment

inflections of rich auburn in his irises, which glowed with a lusty vividness. His nose had been

broken at some point; there was a tiny imperfection to the line at the bridge and an almost-

undetectable scar that added somehow to his piratical manliness. His too-long hair was disheveled

and curled around his ears, heightening the effect.

It was his mouth that killed me. Full and sensuous, plumply pink-red like the skin of a

ripening plum, promising all manner of wicked, wanton pleasure. The sight of those lips unfurled

something in me: an aching, obsessive need. Some kind of flood gate had opened in me. I felt

ravenous and wild, madly covetous. My mouth wanted to eat him as my pussy consumed him.

Each move I made seemed not only fierce but skillful. I was new at this, but I felt like I’d

found my calling. When it came to having sex with Alexander Wolfe, I was a natural. Already, I

knew exactly how to drive him and appreciate him. My body felt entirely attuned to his lust. My

hands and my mouth and my sex wanted to tease him and please him, to coax his pleasure to the

highest heights, to make him come as hard as it was possible to do.

I pushed him onto his back so I was sitting astride him. I leaned over him, rubbing my

breasts softly against his chest. The light pelt of his chest hair gently abraded my tender nipples. I

kissed him, sucking on his lips, licking between them, drawing his tongue into my mouth. My back

was arched and my knees spread wide as I straddled his body. His hands were on my ass, squeezing

in lustful handfuls, spreading me and exploring indecently.

I began to move myself along the length of his deeply-insinuated cock, which was slick with

the honeyed juices of my previous climax. The combination of his massive thickness and the slippery

friction was somehow so beautiful I almost felt emotional about it. This power and this intimacy

were intensely sublime. The curl of pleasure deep in my core was too good, too rich with promise. I

began to ride him while still kissing him by just arching my lower back, lifting and moving my hips in

a slow up-down pump. On the down movement I pushed strongly onto him, taking him as deep as I

could while clenching my inner muscles around him in tight, compressing squeezes. And each time I

squeezed, I sucked gently on his tongue.

Alexander groaned. “Oh, Lila,” he was saying. “Oh, fuck. Oh, God. You feel too good.

I’m too close.” His words were slightly slurred with his passion, with his effort to hold on.

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

Alexander turned his head as though he wanted to watch my mouth as I spoke to him. His

eyes were glazed. He looked at me like I was some apparition he couldn’t believe. Wanting to take

him higher in every way I could, I said softly, “You make me crazy, I want you so bad. I love how

you feel inside me, so big and so deep. I’m going to make you come so hard.”

Talking dirty, it seemed, was another new skill I’d acquired under Alexander’s erotic

influence. I’d never even thought the words I was saying to him, let alone spoken them. But this was

the new me. The new assistant-cum-lover of the powerful CEO of Wolfe Enterprises. Riding

Alexander felt like ruling the world, like I’d transformed into a sumptuous sex warrior, a golden

goddess.

I sat up, wanting more. I raised myself up and slid down onto him in rhythmic, bouncing

drives. Each time I sat down onto him, he was so deep I could feel the blunt end of his cock press

against my womb. And each time, I squeezed the rim of my sex tightly around him, drawing him into

me, wanting full, total possession. The sensation swelled; my entire sheath felt like one blooming

sweetspot. The wet friction grew warmer as I worked him, increasing my pace, taking him into the

tight, moist constriction of my body again and again. My breasts bobbed lightly as I rode him, my

movement a sensual balance of wild abandon and controlled stealth.

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

so fucking good. So good, oh God, too good.”

Alexander’s thumb found my clit, skating in measured, pressing circles, exposing the tiny

peak from the protective hood and working it with bold precision. His thumb stroked strongly against

the underside of my clit with rhythmic expertise. The cyclical pressure heightened the slick

sweetness being delivered by my skewering joyride. Pleasure cascaded from my clit in bright, tight

waves. I shattered, losing myself completely to the severe, untamed pleasure, riding him for all I was

worth as my pussy clamped strongly around him, over and over. Alexander groaned as if his heart

was being ripped out of his chest. His engorged shaft jerked riotously inside me, flooding me with

his hot, liquid satisfaction. The gushing surges jetted against a sensitive trigger inside me, renewing

my orgasm before it had even begun to abate, prolonging it into deep, radiating waves of bliss that

found me writhing and wriggling against his big, driving body.

As the last spasms rippled in a conjoined, fluttering denouement, I collapsed against his

chest. His hand stroked my sweat-dampened hair and we lay quiet for several minutes, recovering

from the pure potency of our lovemaking.

“You’re going to kill me,” I heard him mutter, and I climbed up his body, looking at his face,

and into his eyes. I clenched my saturated sex around his half-softened cock, loving the feel of the

warmth, the sliding wetness that dripped and spilled.

I smiled at him. “Yes.”

We lay like that for some time, just staring into each other’s eyes, savoring the moment as our

bodies remained locked in slick, rippling intimacy. After a few minutes, he spoke. “Do you mind if I

ask you a very personal question?” he asked, his expression relaxed, his dark eyes glinting.

“What?”

“I realize this is a question I should probably have asked you yesterday, right about the time

you were sliding your very wet, pink, virginal pussy along the biggest, baddest hard-on I’ve ever had

in my life, and at my insistence.”

I smiled. “I doubt you could’ve stopped me, whether you insisted or not,” I said, almost

shyly. An inkling of my former inhibited self cringed fleetingly at the memory of they way I’d acted.

I climbed off of him, and his softening shaft slid free of my body. I lay next to him. His eyes never

left me.

I felt no regret about what had happened, not at all, but I was still somewhat astounded at my

brazen, throw-caution-to-the-wind reaction to Alexander Wolfe. Then again, I thought, as my eyes

drank in every detail of his face, I knew I’d do it all over again. Then and now. He was irresistible,

entirely too good to be true.

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

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

“That’s not the question I’m thinking of but now that you mention it, why are – were – you a

virgin? You’re so beautiful, Lila. So incredibly desirable. Why did you wait so long?”

I didn’t answer him immediately. It was a long story, and one buried so deep I was often

able to convince myself it had only been a long-ago dream. Or nightmare. Either way, there was no

way I was about to dig up and lay out the disturbing details of my past. So I gave him the updated,

abridged version. “I’ve never been that interested in sex, if you can believe that,” I told him. “I

never wanted to. None of the men I dated seemed very attractive in that way.” He was listening with

genuine interest, so I continued. “I was distracted by my studies. I thought, for a while, that

something might be wrong with me. My friends were having sex. Everyone was having sex. Except

me. It just never really appealed to me.” That was part of the reason, at least. Not quite the whole

truth and nothing but the truth but it hardly mattered now. My hang-ups had been all but resolved by

the curative potency of Alexander’s top shelf pheromones.

He was smiling widely. My heart almost broke at the sight of him, of his happiness. He was

absolutely stunning. “Amazing,” he said.

“What’s amazing?”

“That you experienced such a sudden, complete transformation the minute you walked into my

office. That outfit you were wearing suggested otherwise, by the way. You definitely caught me off

guard.”

“Oh?”

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

I couldn’t help giggling at the image. “A few months ago, that’s what you would have been

greeted with. A very average-looking academic wearing glasses and lugging around an oversized

backpack. I have my roommate Eva to thank for my meticulous and very thorough makeover.”

He tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear. “No. No way. Even in plaid and wearing

glasses, you could never, ever have been average. You, my lovely Lila, are anything but average.”

A squirmy dart of pleasure flickered in my stomach. My lovely Lila. I loved the way he said

my name. And it startled me how much I adored the very personal pronoun he’d placed in front of it.

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

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

curiosity?”

If I’d ever had reason to contemplate even so much as one day into the future of this …

relationship, it was right then. The way he asked this question was not demanding, or dire. It was

true that we could have some serious consequences on our hands. The small trace not of humor but of

shared, whatever-comes-of-it reality drew me to Alexander, in an emotional sense, more strongly

than I cared to admit. We were in this together, was what he was saying. I hadn’t exactly been

worrying about what came next, but it was nice – no, more than nice; it was ridiculously endearing

that he would take this approach to our possibly life-changing recklessness. It would have been easy

enough for him to usher me out the door with a polite goodbye kiss and a business card in my

clenched fist, just in case. The fact that he showed not even the slightest interest in doing this was …

possibly inappropriately … kind of a turn on, if you really want to know.

“No,” I said. “I’m not.”

“All right,” he said, not missing a beat. I liked the sound of his voice, the deep chest-filling

timbre of it and the slightest rasped, sensual edge. “In that case, let me ask you another, even more

personal question. If you don’t mind.”

“Shoot.”

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

Okay, this was personal. But, of course, he had every right to ask. I remember thinking it, the

second time he had come inside me, when he’d taken me with such beautiful aggression right there on

his desk: we were already bound. I don’t know why I had felt that way. Why it had seemed so

immediate and so powerful. Or, why I hadn’t felt even remotely anxious, not even once, throughout

the last thirty hours, about what might happen tomorrow. I’d been entirely consumed with the now,

unreservedly devoted to my own hedonistic gratification. Obsessed with pleasuring my body with

his, and his with mine.

Alexander had many powerful effects on me, one of them being this: a silent and unfounded

sense of reassurance. With him, I felt not only profoundly sensual, but also, inexplicably, safe. For

no apparent reason except that he exuded a protectiveness that I’d felt from the get-go. I’d wondered,

that very first time I’d laid eyes on him, if he was dangerous. He was big enough to be dangerous,

and strong enough. His dark eyes had promised that he would do something with that strength, if

given half an invitation. And I had walked right into his lair/office, almost instantly resolved to invite

everything he was willing to give.

Now, he was proving to me, maybe without even meaning to, that there was more to this than

merely lust. A little glow of hope fluttered in my chest, but I suppressed it immediately. I wasn’t

sure if I even wanted to hope for any kind of future with Alexander. But I was glad that he was asking

me these questions. He was sharing the responsibility, owning it.

I thought about his question carefully and I remembered. My cycle ran like clockwork. It

was the reason I’d agreed to go commando, I now recalled: my period wasn’t due for four more

days. Nine o’clock on Monday morning. That’s how precise my body clock was.

And today was Friday.

Maybe, just maybe, in the back of my mind I’d known that it was very unlikely I would get

pregnant this late in my cycle. I wondered if different timing would have curbed my enthusiasm, as

far as the past day-and-a-half’s decisions or lack thereof had gone. I doubted it.

“Monday,” I said.

His expression didn’t change but he did kiss me, very tenderly. This time, I felt the effects of

that kiss, not with my body, but with my heart. I wasn’t sure if I liked that feeling or not. It made me

feel like my hunger had dug deeper. Like Alexander had penetrated me not only with his sexuality,

but something more. Before I could begin to explore my feelings on that particular subject, he spoke

again, interrupting my train of thought.

“Would you consider going on the pill?” Alexander said.

“I …” I began, containing a small flurry of elation at the question. If he wanted me to go on

the pill, it was fairly safe to assume that he wanted to continue having sex with me. “I don’t … well,

I don’t have health insurance at the moment. But I’m sure there’s a free clinic I could go to–”

“You do have health insurance now,” he interrupted, almost gruffly, as though the topic

annoyed him. “It’s part of the employment package. I’m going to get you an appointment for Monday

morning, if that works for you. Then, if you’re game, you can start taking them immediately.” If

you’re game. One thing I was sure of: when it came to Alexander, I was game for anything.

I already knew he was a dominant type of person. He was the CEO of an entire empire, after

all; he had to be dominating. He was used to calling the shots, and to giving orders. I might have felt

an inkling of rebellion about his arrogant authority if it hadn’t been for one thing. He’d just succeeded

in taking full control of my health, my birth control method, my job, my accommodation and my sex

life. In one fell swoop. But the way he’d phrased it all found me agreeing to any suggestion he

made. If that works for you. If you’re game. He was handing me the promise of money, safety,

rewarding professional challenges and on-call multiple orgasms for the foreseeable future. But he

wasn’t assuming anything. He was giving me the choice. This concession seemed to suggest to me

that I held some measure of power in this relationship, too. Even if he, for all intents and purposes,

was the bestower of all these … gifts, for lack of a better word, and I was the recipient and the

underling, there was more to this story. I brought out a vulnerability in Alexander, and I could feel it.

I felt it when I took him into my body, and I felt it now, as he watched my eyes. He didn’t want to

scare me away. He wanted to lure me and hold me. He had grown attached to me, already, as I had

grown attached to him. Strongly. He wanted me badly, for now, to be with him and to stay with him.

I could see it written on his face.

As if to prove me right, he said, “I’m supposed to meet my brother tonight for dinner at eight

o’clock,” he said. “And I’d like you to come with me.”

I was a little surprised when Alexander asked me to dinner with his brother. I knew we

shared a surprisingly intense attraction, even if we’d only met just over a day ago. Our bodies were

like magnets that couldn’t resist each other’s pull. But still. It seemed too soon, despite the

whirlwind consummation of our new connection, both romantically and professionally, to be meeting

his family.

“No,” I said, sitting up. “Thank you. But I should get going. My roommate probably thinks

I’ve been abducted by aliens. I’ve texted her, but she’s probably wondering what’s going on. And

besides, I don’t have anything to wear to dinner. I’d need to go home and change.” I’d only brought

two small items of clothing with me, and in fact I was wondering where they might be located.

Probably still laying where we’d left them in Alexander’s office. I’d spent most of my time in

Alexander’s company completely naked. “You and your brother probably have a lot to talk about.

You catch up with him, and I’ll go home and prepare myself for my new job. I’ll see you on

Monday.” Even as I said it, I wondered: would he still want to hire me? Maybe I’d blown the job

interview by have sex with him seven times.

He snaked his arms around my waist, halting my retreat. “It’s still early,” he said. “I’ll take

you shopping for some new outfits. Some evening clothes and some work clothes. That’s also part of

the employment package: a clothing allowance.” We both knew a clothing allowance was well

beyond the scope of my job description. “Then we’ll go to dinner. I want you to come meet my

brother Jake.”

Some underlying emotion in his voice when he said his brother’s name seemed steeped with

affection. I got the feeling Alexander and his brother were close. And I wondered why he wanted

me with him.

“Alexander –” I began, but he pulled me back to him, mouthing my nipple, nuzzling and biting

gently.

“Please,” he whispered against my breast, biting more strongly. Holding me with his teeth

and his gripping hands. His mouth gentled, drawing the sensitive nub of my nipple into the wet

warmth of his mouth, sucking in tiny rhythmic pulls. It was a strange sensation. Like he was feeding

on me with a kind of tender adoration I had never imagined. He was worshipping my body: that’s

how it felt. Each little pull sent a wave of some indefinable pleasure into my body. Not lust,

entirely. I was over-satiated, if anything. This sensation felt rare and vast and sacred.

I let my fingers wander through his disheveled hair as he suckled me in this gentle, reverent

way. “I would like to go on the pill, yes,” I told him, as sure of every decision I was making as if

there had never been any other choice. “And if we’re going shopping before we meet your brother,

then we’d better get ready.”

I’d noticed, of course, the opulence of Alexander’s penthouse office and adjoining

apartment. Real estate location aside, both were large and fitted with wildly expensive, if sparse,

appliances, furniture and decorations. But going out on the town with him was something else

entirely.

A driver picked us up and took us to Barneys. Alexander had called ahead and we were met

by a personal shopper. She was an impeccably-dressed middle-aged woman who introduced herself

as Maude. We were politely led to an upper floor where an open fitting room with views of the city,

plush chairs and several tall mirrors had been artfully arranged. We were served champagne as a

team of assistants answered Maude’s orders for sizes and styles.

“She needs an entire new wardrobe,” Alexander had explained. “Work outfits, eveningwear,

fitted short skirts and tops. A nice warm coat for fall. Leather, maybe. Or suede. And shoes. Lots

of shoes. Accessories, too. Whatever she wants.”

And so I sipped my champagne as Maude and her minions dressed me and undressed me,

outfitting me again and again. Alexander sat by the window, checking his emails on his phone,

making a few calls. He would give his approval from his perch, or veto the selections he didn’t like.

Anything she wants.

It was true. Two hours later, my wardrobe had easily quadrupled in volume, quantity-wise at

least. Any one single garment Alexander had bought me, however, was more expensive than the

entire content of my closet in Eva’s apartment.

At first I protested, of course, but Alexander wasn’t interested in my protests. “Let me.

Consider it part of your pay. You’re going to need clothes for work and for travel. We have a trip

coming up soon.” His phone rang.

And, before I could ask him where we might be going, Maude brought me the most

outstanding, luxurious coat I had ever laid eyes on. Soft-worked suede, rimmed with fur, belted,

hanging to mid thigh. It was stunning and I, once I put it on, felt like my newly-released inner goddess

had found her regalia. This coat was me. It was perfect, and I felt perfect in it. It matched my

newfound state of mind. I slid it on over the black silk halter minidress I was wearing. Petite, sexy

wedges were held out for me to step into.

And my transformation was complete.

Jake Wolfe looked eerily like his older brother, but he was slimmer, an inch or two shorter

and had a more artistic flair to his overall look. He had the same almost-black eyes as Alexander but

his hair was a shade lighter: a curled dark sable brown as opposed to his brother’s near-wavy, very-

black locks. And his mouth quirked with the same contemplative pout.

But it was there that the similarities ended.

After Alexander had paid the bill at Barneys and sent the bulk of the new purchases back to

his apartment – not my apartment, I’d noted but not commented on – we made our way to the

restaurant. It was a clearly-expensive darklit Japanese restaurant and Jake was already at our table,

which was by the window and raised. We had to take our shoes off and step up into the cushioned,

cozy little enclave.

On the drive to the restaurant, Alexander had told me that Jake managed one of his investment

companies for him – the smaller one – but it was a relatively new appointment. Before that, Jake had

had a string of jobs that “hadn’t quite worked out.”

As Alexander took my coat and introduced me to his brother, Jake kissed my hand, taking in

the svelte, perfect fit of my new dress. He must have been four or five years younger than Alexander

and did not have the seasoned masculinity of his older brother, but more of a lanky youthful swagger

that suggested he hadn’t entirely mastered life and had suffered from some of its harder edges; a

bruised vulnerability was barely masked. He was good-looking in a somewhat more boyish way and

there was a loose, reckless edge to him that clashed slightly with the underlying reassurance

Alexander’s presence offered me. I couldn’t help thinking that, while I’d waltzed into Alexander’s

private lair without so much as a backwards glance, I would have thought twice about entering

Jake’s.

Despite this, I found him likeable. His smile was mischievous and contagious, and there was

a playful glint in his eyes.

“Jake, meet Lila. Lila, this is Jake, my much younger, much less handsome brother.”

“I’m not quite as rich, either,” said Jake. “But I’m a lot more fun.” He held his lips to the

back of my hand a fraction longer than he needed to. Still holding my hand, he helped me slide

around the semi-circled velvet seat to sit next to him. Of course I didn’t dare tell him that the past

twenty-four hours I’d spent in his brother’s company had been not only the most fun but the most

adventurous, erotic, and orgasmic of my life. I kept the thought to myself but it made me smile coyly.

Jake was watching my eyes as though reading my thoughts, and this caused me to blush.

“Behave,” Alexander growled at him, sliding in next to me, so I was seated between the two

of them. Jake had already ordered sake and he poured three cups of the clear liquid, to the brim. He

held one of the cups up to me and I held it in both hands, taking a sip. It was warm and strong and

delicious.

It was a luxurious feeling, to be ensconced in this lavish, intimate little booth between two

big, handsome men. I was dressed in a very-short black silk halter dress and wore nothing

underneath. My legs were bare. My shoulders and arms were bare. That such a thin film of fabric

was all that separated me from total nakedness was quietly exciting. I felt beautiful, and desirable. I

felt fresh and young and alive, like I’d just truly woken up for the first time in my life. My body had

taken on a glowing, molten awareness. Alexander’s warm hand rested casually on my thigh and the

heat of it was already beginning to feed me with its promise. Jake’s arm brushed up against mine as

he reached for his drink.

My femininity had never felt so empowering to me. And my newfound sexuality simmered

within me. My breasts felt rounded and sensitive under the soft veil of silk. My sex, delicate and

responsive, began to pulse gently. The hem of my dress had ridden high up my thighs to barely cover

me. I loved existing in this semi-aroused state of hyper-receptiveness. I felt dewy and open and

ready for anything.

I didn’t feel attracted to Jake Wolfe; I was too entirely overcome with the attractions of his

brother. But there was an unspoken excitement in his nearness. Being this closely compressed

between two ultra-virile males brought out the basest of my urges. I liked that there was a raw and

silent challenge, as deeply buried as it might be. I liked, in my soft arousal, that I was this desirable.

Oddly, I wanted to work that desirability. I wanted to play with it. My fingers twirled a long strand

of my hair. My legs and my lips parted. My sex was moistening and I wondered if they could sense

that. I was shocked at the brazen turn of my own thoughts. I wondered if they could smell my

sexuality. It was irrational: the kind of behavior animals might exhibit in some far off leafy

junglescape. Cultured, educated New Yorkers shouldn’t behave this way. I shouldn’t behave this

way. But all I could think about was the way Alexander’s massive, thrusting cock felt inside me

when he came, filling me with flooding heat. Even now, the moist dew was gathering as I savored the

memory. Alexander’s arm slid around my shoulders and his other rested languidly on my thigh. He

was claiming me, almost unconsciously, and I nestled closer to him, wriggling lightly in my seat to

ease my rising tide.

But the movement did little to calm me. It was him. He was the reason behind my craziness.

Because I could smell him. Under the fresh scent of mint and soap, there it was: his musk-spiced

masculinity. God damn him, he was tantalizing. I realized it was the first time I’d been out in public

with him and I seriously hoped I could control myself until we were alone again. I felt on the very

verge of jumping him right then and then, of climbing on to his lap and writhing against him until I felt

him harden, of working his zipper down and sitting down onto him, easing him into my welcoming

softness.

“So,” said Jake. “Where did you two meet?”

“At a job interview, actually,” I said, glad for the distraction.

“Lila is my new assistant,” Alexander clarified.

Jake’s eyes roved between my face and Alexander’s. An easy, amused smile touched his

lips. He took in our postures and positions, and the way Alexander’s fingers were touching the high

hem of my dress. “Assistant?” he drawled.

“Yes,” Alexander answered curtly. “Assistant.”

“I need a new assistant,” Jake said. “Let Lila come work for me.”

“Find your own assistant,” Alexander said. “Lila’s mine.”

Lila’s mine.

Oh God, those provokingly possessive words did nothing to help my restraint. Against every

educated, erudite grain I had once valued, I found I wanted him to possess me. To own me.

Desperately. Right now.

I was glad a waiter appeared at our table just then. On second glance, he didn’t look like a

waiter. He looked like a manager, or the owner of the restaurant.

“Mr. Wolfe,” he half-bowed to Alexander. “And Mr. Wolfe.” He repeated the motion again

at Jake. “Would you allow us to bring you an assortment of our finest delicacies this evening? As

per the usual? What are the lady’s preferences?”

The lady’s preferences included raw meat but had nothing to do with sushi. What was wrong

with me? I’d become a debauched, raging nymphomaniac. I forced myself to pull my mind away

from the magnificent echoing image of Alexander’s glorious manhood the first time I’d seen it. I

realized right then – at an entirely inappropriate time and place, of course – that I hadn’t yet tasted

Alexander. This seemed like a glaring oversight. I’d taken him into my body many times and in a

number of different positions. But never into my mouth. And I was suddenly dying to do exactly that.

I wanted to take that big, perfect cock between my lips, to run my tongue along its silky, glossy

textures, to suck and lick and draw him as deep as I could until he swore and groaned in agonized

ecstasy and came in hot, juicy bursts. My mouth watered at the thought. Of the greedy suction. Of

drinking him into my body in creamy mouthfuls. It was true. I had become a complete and utter

crazyperson. A slut. A whore. The worst – or maybe the best – thing about my metamorphosis from

nerd to nymphet was that I didn’t care. I wanted to get down and dirty with Alexander Wolfe like I’d

never wanted anything in my life.

I forced myself to focus.

The restaurant manager was waiting patiently for my answer, interpreting my silence as

contemplation over the dinner menu selection. “I’m very adventurous,” I told him. “Whatever the

usual is, I’m sure it’ll be perfect.”

He bowed slightly once again and walked away.

Growing up as I had, I wasn’t all that accustomed to Japanese food, or ethnic food of any

kind. I had learned to cook for myself from a very young age, out of necessity. There had been many

times when we had gone without food altogether. I thought of the night I’d eaten plain flour out of the

bag with a spoon, huddled by the light of a dying fire as my mother slept with an almost-empty bottle

of bourbon clutched in her arms. I had been seven years old. I’d decided then and there to teach

myself how to cook and bake and how to fend for myself. I’d made a vow to myself in that cold

flickering desperation that I would work and study until I could somehow hoist myself out of the

dismal choices I’d been given. I didn’t want to end up like her. Drunk and sad and alone. The very

next day I’d asked my teacher for extra books, and extra homework. When the electricity bill didn’t

get paid, I read by candlelight. I was driven to better my situation. And I’d done it. I’d risen, little

by little. I’d skipped a grade. I’d gotten into Princeton with a partial scholarship. I’d escaped the

confines of my dead-end home town. And I’d earned my degree in three years.

I didn’t tell them I wasn’t, in fact, old enough to legally drink. Not quite.

And I didn’t allow myself to think of him that way. The way I couldn’t help consider as the

flashback rolled through me with the kind of dark force it always inflicted. That wasn’t the reason I

was so absorbingly attracted to Alexander Wolfe, not at all. I banished the errant thought. I was

attracted to him because he was beautiful. Protective. Surprisingly kind. I wanted to taste Alexander

because I knew it would bring him pleasure, which was the only thing I wanted to do.

Or was it?

Alexander and Jake were talking business. I leaned into Alexander and let his warm

presence settle around me. That delicious mint-laced edge to his scent touched my still-fresh

memory. Mint. It had always seemed the foremost flavor of him, but as I considered the intricacies

of his scent more carefully and in more detail, I realized there was more to it than that.

Freshly starched cotton. Expensive soap. Minted paper.

Alexander smelled like money.

Alexander

This was nothing less than addiction, I knew that.

I was powerless to slow it, or calm it. It raged in me like the hellfire that it was. I’d always

been prone to obsessive behavior. At least when it came to work. But not women. Or at least not

before this woman. Always before I’d maintained a comfortably noncommittal distance. I’d dated

many women, but always on my own terms. As soon as they became too needy or too demanding, I’d

politely take my leave. I always made it clear that I wasn’t looking for long-term relationships. I’d

seen very few that worked. Commitment bound a person in ways I had no intention of ever being

bound. I didn’t aspire to that kind of forced restraint and no one had ever given me reason to feel or

believe otherwise.

But this. This was something new. Something dangerous. What I needed to do was focus. I

needed to get a fucking grip.

I couldn’t even stand to physically separate myself from her. Pulling out of her, even after

having one after another of the most phenomenal orgasms of my life – and I’d never felt like anything

was lacking until now – I felt a ridiculous but overwhelming need to stay inside. To never, ever

leave that blissful state of connection to this soft, nubile creature whose every movement and every

moan made me want to occupy her and possess her and keep her all to myself.

But I was a rational man. I had more discipline and control than anyone I knew.

I could handle this.

I had to force myself to allow her to leave my bed. I had to physically restrain myself from

demanding that she stay with me, behind closed doors, until I took her again, and again, to satisfy this

savage, carnal beast that had taken up residence inside my body. It wasn’t just my cock that wanted

her, although my cock had become permanently and painfully hard from the minute she’d walked into

my life. Even after spending myself mindlessly inside her, too deeply immersed in a pleasure so

enlightening it had shadowed every other consideration, I was almost instantly aroused again. I

couldn’t seem to deflate. And it wasn’t just that. My entire being wanted to drink her and eat her and

feast on her unbearable beauty in every way possible way. My hands wanted to feel all that creamy

white skin, play in her silky hair, tease her cherry-pink nipples into firm little peaks. My mouth

wanted to fix itself onto that sweet honeyed pussy, to delve into the succulent tightness that was so

wanting and so responsive.

She was so perpetually ready for me. Her sex was like a freshly-blooming, nectar-moistened

flower. Ludicrously enticing. As though she’d walked out of a fantasy and into my life.

And I, Alexander Wolfe, billionaire CEO, was addicted. That’s all there was to it. When

she’d threatened to leave, to go back to her apartment for the night and see her friends and change her

clothes, I’d felt a spearing jab of panic. There was no other way to describe it. Just the thought of

that little pink pussy, tight and wet and softly aroused, barely covered by her short skirt, vulnerable to

any other man who might come along: it was unbearable. That round little ass. Those young, uplifted

breasts. Those fuck-me lips. She’d be out there, small and vulnerable and alone, without

protection. People would see her. They might covet her like I did. They might try to entice her. To

touch her. I simply couldn’t understand how she’d gone twenty-two years, or close to it, without ever

being touched. How all other men who had come into contact with her between then and now had

resisted her. I didn’t care what kind of makeover she’d been given; it simply didn’t make sense.

I’d practically begged her to stay.

I’d tried to roll over, to watch her walk out the door and wait for the habitual relief. Like I

usually did when I’d finished with a woman. To savor that peaceful, slaked solitude that didn’t

require pleasing anyone or putting up with insipid emotions or grating demands.

Instead, my hands had involuntarily gripped her hips. My mouth had sought out her budded

nipple as though to draw comfort from her, to drink in some kind of sexual-spiritual nourishment. If

you leave, I’ll come after you, I’d thought, and hated myself for my pathetic fixation.

Let her go. Clear you mind. You’ll see her on Monday, I’d told myself, knowing I’d do no

such thing. What if she disappears? What if you can’t find her? What if another man takes her

and keeps her for himself?

Jake would be his usual offbeat charming self but it would be a good test. Of my own

tolerance. And I couldn’t really cancel. There were things we needed to discuss. The investment

company he was running was being audited the following week and had had some issues with insider

trading accusations that were still being followed up. These were issues that began before Jake took

the company reins. I’d sacked the suspects and reshuffled the company, putting Jake in charge. I

knew he was up to the job. And I could trust him, even if his work history wasn’t exactly squeaky

clean. None of that worried me. He had a couple of degrees and he’d always had good instincts

when it came to business. But in fact I’d been surprised at how well he was doing with it. Jake was

rising to the challenge. I knew he wanted to please me and it was another reason I’d offered him the

job. It was a way I could help him. And protect him.

I’d always been protective of Jake. Ever since that night. The night that changed our lives

and the entire course of our future. He’d been eleven years old and I’d been sixteen. Eleven years

old and that bastard had done things to him. I don’t even know how far it’d gone. Jake never told me

and I never asked. I’d beaten the fucker to a pulp and nearly killed him. We’d escaped the little

beach shack where we spent the earliest years of our lives, and we never looked back. The first few

years had been a haze of hardship. Of fear, I’ll admit it. More than that, of anger. And most of all, of

not understanding why. I didn’t care what happened to me so much. But Jake was such a little punk.

So small. Defenseless and needy of any attention I could give him. What that kid needed was love. I

don’t know if he ever really got it. I looked out for him the best I could. I took odd jobs and worked

my way through high school. I barely looked up. It was obvious I needed to kill high school and

make something of myself or we’d be living under bridges or in some squalid apartment for the rest of

our lives. And I’d done it. I’d earned a full scholarship to Princeton and I took my little brother with

me. For two years, they never knew he lived in my dorm room with me. By the time the

administrators figured it out, I’d already found a room for him with a family who were looking for a

boarder. A family that just so happened to have a teenage daughter that hand-picked Jake from some

line-up and gave him a different kind of education.

So, somehow, we’d survived. Some mixture of grit and desperation had pulled us through.

And I’d been so driven to beat the odds that I just kept on going. I graduated and started a publishing

company two months later. I used work as a refuge. It was the only thing I knew how to do. I

worked, and I protected my brother. The two threads were weaved into my fiber.

Because of this, I had a sixth sense when it came to sensing vulnerability.

And I had sensed it in Lila. I was beginning to realize that this was one of the things fueling

my obsession. Aside from the fact that she was a nubile nymph the likes of which I had never before

seen or even imagined, she exuded the same underlying fragility as Jake. An intangible

defencelessness that roused every instinct I possessed. She fired up all the old urges that had driven

me to succeed and surpass and secure.

I didn’t mind that Jake was practically drooling. She was safe between us. He could look.

He knew if he touched I would beat him to a pulp. I could still kick his ass. He wanted to touch, that

was obvious. I didn’t blame him for that. The girl was innocence and sexuality incarnate, all rolled

up into one perfect package.

The way she leaned into me like I was some kind of safe haven only deepened my need to

guard her and shield her. She was practically on my lap as we ate and talked. It was all I could do

not to roll her onto me and take her right there in that little booth, Jake or no Jake.

My brother and I talked about what we needed to talk about. He was meeting friends later

anyway to go to a club and a party. I sometimes forget that he’s only twenty-seven.

We walked out of the restaurant together and Jake kissed Lila on the corner of her mouth.

Some kind of volatility boiled in me but I kept it under control. My brother caught my eye and

laughed. Then he kissed Lila once more, this time on her other cheek and more chastely, like he was

aware that he might be on the receiving end of my fist if he pushed me too far.

“You’ve got my brother by the balls, Lila,” he told her, highly amused. “And it was nice to

meet you. See you next time.” Then, to me, “Talk to you Monday, bro. Have a good night.” He

slapped me on the back.

With that, Jake walked off into the night. He was a full-grown man now, of course, but there

was still that small edge of disquiet as he walked away in the darkness, that latent, long-held,

necessary watchfulness. Of not wanting to let go.

The limo driver was already there, opening the door. He was a new one and I couldn’t

remember his name. As soon as we got in I told him to cruise for a while and I closed the tinted glass

partition window.

Lila was sitting all demurely beside me, not touching me. But she had this look in her smoky

green eyes that was not even close to demure. She’d been watching me watch Jake. Like she was

reading me, or attempting to. She leaned a little closer, lifting her face to mine. “Kiss me,” she

whispered.

Those lips. Plump and pink and glossy. A kind of rounded, youthful plumpness that women

pay a fortune for but never come close to achieving. Lila’s lips were juicy and sweet like she’d just

been licking on a virgin-turned-goddess-flavored lollipop. And they were opened slightly. Inviting

me inside.

I slipped my tongue into her mouth. She tasted so good I was literally dizzy from the rush of

lust I felt. I needed more. To get deeper. She went pliant in my arms in a way that drove me mad.

Willing and deceptively submissive. I felt her hand on me.

Fuck.

Both her small, delicate hands. Fumbling like she wasn’t sure what to do but didn’t quite

care. She was unfastening my belt buckle, unzipping my pants.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” she said, still kissing me with little love bites. Her lips were

insanely soft and gentle, pillowy and pure. Her voice was a sultry, feminine purr. “I’ve been

thinking about what I want to do to you.”

I couldn’t even answer. I just let her kiss me with those little licking nips and take my raring,

rampant erection in her cool hands.

Fuck. I was so fucking far gone.

She was gripping me lightly, letting her hands circle me and play with me. I couldn’t bear it.

I couldn’t bear how fucking good it felt. “I’ve been thinking about how much I want to taste you,” she

was whispering to me. “And about what I want for dessert.”

Fuck fuck fuck.

She was shimmying down my body, her dress rising and bunching. I could see the rounded

curves of naked skin as she kneeled down between my thighs, pushing them apart with insistent little

shoves. She was so small, so petite. Her strength was nothing compared to mine. But there was

something so outrageously arousing about her determination. She slipped her dress over her head as

though annoyed by it. So she was naked except for her high-heeled shoes. She rubbed her breasts

along my cock, sliding her body over mine.

Ah, hell.

Then she was kissing me. She was licking the head of my cock, where a drop of pre-cum had

gathered. She suckled on me, licking my crown and centering on that small, wet offering as if it was

champagne and she was thirsty. Once she’d licked me clean, she began to take more of me, sucking

on me like I was a sugar-coated popsicle. I could barely take it. The pleasure was astounding.

Gathering and accumulating. The wet, tugging pull of her mouth painted my cock with red-hot

ecstasy. Each lick compounded everything. Each languid stroke of her tongue. The taut, dedicated

suction.

I closed my eyes. But then I opened them, wanting to watch her mouth as it ate at me, sliding

up and down the length of me. I weaved my fingers through her hair to keep her there, to feel her

every movement. She was obviously inexperienced, struggling to find rhythm. It was this combined

awkwardness and resolve that was about to undo me. She was ravenous for me. Not only to taste me

but to feel me. Her fingers began to explore, cupping me, climbing behind in little stepping pokes.

And her rosy lips were stretched around me as her tongue lapped at me with tentative yet hungry

inquisitiveness.

The release billowed through me so forcefully I struggled to comprehend how it could build

so suddenly and so jarringly. The bliss simply erupted in spooling, exuberant bursts. My whole body

was coming. My cock jerked violently in her mouth and she didn’t retreat. Instead, she clamped her

teeth lightly around me, so lightly that there was no pain except the pain of a rocketing orgasm so dire

I didn’t care if I ever recovered. She was drinking. Her little mouth was clamped around me. I

could feel the tightening of her throat around my cock as she swallowed. Again and again. Then she

was nuzzling me and licking every drop of my cum like it was the sweetest thing she’d ever tasted.

Until there was nothing left of me.

BILLIONAIRE (Part 1) by Juliette Jones

Available now on Amazon

BILLIONAIRE (Part 3 & Part 4) by Juliette Jones

Available now on Amazon

BILLIONAIRE (Part 5 & Part 6) by Juliette Jones

Coming soon to Amazon …