BILLIONAIRE

Part 3 & Part 4

by Juliette Jones

or printed form without permission.

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

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

Cover art photo used under license from Shutterstock.com

First Edition: April 2013

BILLIONAIRE (Part 3)

Lila

“I’m having some friends over tonight. For a poker game. We meet up every couple of

months. Do you want to play?” Alexander asked me, his silky tone kick-starting some kind of sweet
churn inside me, like he was already there, touching me with his echo and his promise.

“I’m not much of a gambler,” I said, drying my wet hair with a towel. “I’ll watch. I’ll get

your drinks for you.” I’ll watch you, I thought to myself. I wanted to be near him, to sit next to him
and watch his strong hands and his remarkable face as he played cards with his friends.

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

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

It unnerved me a little, that I was getting so outrageously turned on just from the sound of his

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

I walked over to where he was sitting on the bed, with only a towel wrapped around his hips.

His black hair fell over his forehead in shiny ribbons. The color of his skin was like cinnamon.

I was naked and still wet from our shared shower. As I thought about the time that had passed

since my job interview, I realized it must be Saturday afternoon. My interview had been on
Thursday. It hardly seemed possible that I had undergone such a profound change in such a short
amount of time.

We had showered together, but Alexander had not made love to me since this morning. He

had soaped me and washed my hair, but he had made no move on me, as yet.

My body, as I drew closer to him, began to come alive. There was a hint of soreness between

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

In his hands he held two silver balls connected by a short white cord. They were slightly

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

His long eyelashes cast shadows onto his cheekbones in the ambient lighting of his palatial

bedroom. He was looking at my nipples, which grew painfully tight under his appreciation. He
touched one with a single fingertip, drawing a light, rotating circle. I couldn’t help it. I had to kiss
him. His lips were too perfect, too rounded and soft and delectable-looking. They were making my

mouth water. I slid my hands around his neck and raised his face to look at me. His obsidian eyes
were playfully wicked. I leaned down to kiss him, gently bit his lower lip, drawing it into my mouth,
licking his lips like they were sugar-coated.

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

“And later,” he said, half-smiling at my comment. “I will do much more than touch you,

sweet. I’ll do everything you beg me to do.” He already knew I was wet. His fingers were there,
kneading lightly, sliding across the silky furls.

“Do it now,” I gasped.

“No. Not now. I’m going to eat your luscious little pink pussy until it’s soft and ripe enough

for me to insert these beads. But that’s all you get for now. You’re not going to come. Not yet.”

I didn’t tell him but I thought he might be wrong about this. I was almost coming already, just

from the gentle glide of his fingers, fondling the folds of my sex, slipping just inside me.

“Put your mouth on me,” I breathed. I wanted him so badly I didn’t care that I was practically

pleading. I could feel the very beginnings of my orgasm’s rise, the adrenaline surge, the light
quickening. “I want to feel your tongue inside me.”

He looked at me, his eyes narrowing. He stopped the movement of his fingers, like he could

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

His breath caught as he watched me do this, and he let his towel fall to the floor. He held his

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

With my hand still on my intimate folds, opening myself to him, playing my body, I reached my

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

But he wouldn’t give it to me. He circled my wrists in his hands, like warm, living manacles.

“You’ll wait, like I tell you to,” he said. There was a teasing edge to his command, but also a steely
stubbornness. He wasn’t going to give in to me. “You’ll come when I say so,” he continued. “When

I allow it. Only then. And I’m going to make you wait tonight, sweet Lila. I’m going to torture you
like you torture me.” He pinned my hands to the bed, kneeling down to breathe lightly on my sex,
blowing little puffs of warm, caressing air.

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

everything you want.”

He chuckled softly. “You torture me, sweet, like I’m walking a fine line between heaven and

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

Then he took the round beads from my hand and carefully, one at a time, rolled them against

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

It was then that Alexander touched the broad end of his cock strongly against my engorged

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

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

I wanted his big cock touching me, pressing against me, rubbing me and giving me the release

I needed. I bucked and writhed, wanting him to do it again but he was chuckling at my inflamed
reaction.

“Not yet, sweetheart,” he laughed. I knew it: I was in bed with the devil. Who else would

have enjoyed torturing me to this extent? Who else would have laughed at my desperation?

And it was only getting worse. As I writhed, swiveling my hips in a protesting plead, the

beads, deep inside me, began to roll, too, caressing me from the inside. The fullness was
indescribable, the pleasure deep and severe. Not enough, yet, to make me come, but I was riding
some sort of pre-orgasmic swell that was maddeningly warm, and blissfully sweet.

Alexander freed my wrists, sliding his hands around his cock. By this point, I was very nearly

mindless. I felt greedy and crazily aroused. I wanted to touch him. I wanted my hands on that big
cock, squeezing and caressing. With my hands now free, I reached for him.

“I’d fuck that perfect little mouth, honey, but I’m wary of the state you’re in,” he laughed, and

his smugness fueled my madness further. With one hand I fingered the smooth crown of his cock,
lightly pinching the head, swirling my thumb across the moisture that had gathered there. He groaned
loudly. I let my other hand rove, cupping the loose skin of his scrotum, playing gently, reaching to the
secreted place behind to deftly explore and gently press. Boldly, I went further, wriggling my fingers,
feathering, teasing.

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

I pressed harder, working him with my hands. And harder. “Come on,” I cooed. “Come all

over me. I want to feel your hot cum on my skin. I want to rub it all over my naked body.”

With a feral growl, Alexander exploded. He came in pulsing, milky bursts that jetted

endlessly across my breasts and my stomach. I loved the feeling of his pleasure raining over me,
marking me as his. I felt owned by him, and coveted. I had earned this claim and I wanted every
drop of it.

His teeth were clenched and his heavy-lidded eyes slightly bloodshot from the power of his

release. Watching his eyes, I rubbed his cum across my skin, reveling in the soft liquid silk of it as I
painted my breasts. I swirled it around my nipples.

Alexander leaned over me, bracing his arms on either side of me. He kissed me deeply, his

tongue exploring in intimate thrusts, and there was a pronounced tenderness to his kiss that made my
heart beat faster. I love everything about him, I thought. I’ll never get enough of this, of him.

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

I wanted him to keep kissing me, but he rose and walked over to his closet. He pulled on a

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

I felt a little calmer now, like I had channeled some of his satisfaction. I lay still as he

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

I stood from the bed, tentatively taking a few steps as he watched me. The fullness inside me

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

I put on, as he’d suggested, a kilt-like very-short black skirt and a white V-neck top that was

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

Alexander was wearing a white polo shirt. His jeans were still unfastened. And his erection

had gained momentum as he’d watched me dress.

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

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

I went to him, taking his hot, rearing cock in my hands. It was perfectly shaped, thick and

long, like stone wrapped in silk. “Do you want me to –”

“Yes. But they’re probably already here. And it’s not going to make a difference. I’ll just get

instantly hard again the minute I look at you.” He seemed almost pissed off about the pronouncement.

I couldn’t help smiling as I eased his oversized erection into his jeans, carefully tucking it to

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

But he was pulling me out the door.

Alexander’s friends – all five of them – were, to a man, drop-dead gorgeous. Not as gorgeous

as Alexander himself, but certainly above average in the virility department. Alexander held my hand
as he introduced me to them, and glowered slightly at their open-mouthed reaction to, well, me.

I wasn’t used to this kind of response from men. In the past, I’d always worn loose, baggy

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

And now, with my newfound sexuality, which had taken on the ferocity of a rampaging bull,

the attention of these rich, handsome men was flattering, and reminded me, disconcertingly, of my
hidden secret. If Alexander had left the room, I might have shrunk back into myself like a hothouse

flower under a sudden gust of cold air. But his presence was humidity and sun, fueling me, burning
me and opening me like I’d never known.

I’d almost become used to the effects of the rounded beads inside me, gathering sensation as I

moved. I was existing in a haze of euphoric stimulation that made me feel as though I was glowing
from the inside out. That these men would rove my body with their hungry eyes only compounded the
effect. I let them look. I felt their gaze collecting on my skin.

But I was glad Alexander was holding my hand. I held onto that hand tightly, almost

desperately. It was him I wanted. It was his attention I wanted to bask in. And when his hand
slipped from mine to shake their hands as they patted him on the back in a manly greeting, I
disengaged lightly, almost swaying or dancing or somehow just moving in any subtle way I could to
keep myself from simply going mad from the passion that was gathering in my depths.

“I’ll get the drinks,” I volunteered, glad for something to do to distract myself. I walked down

the hall to the kitchen, twirling, reveling in the swivel of my hips and the youth of my body. Each step
heightened the luscious torture. My senses were keenly attuned, hyper-aware of sounds and textures.
I entered Alexander’s grand gourmet kitchen. I ran my hand along the marble countertop, appreciating
the excessive opulence, the over-the-top gleaming stainless steel appliances that looked like they’d
never once been used. It was so far removed from the dingy kitchenette in Eva’s apartment, and even
more removed from the dilapidated grunge of my faraway childhood home that I took a second just to
marvel. The luxury. Could a person get used to it? Did the feeling of decadent extravagance ever
wear off? I wondered if Alexander ever cooked. I could picture him serving me up some romantic,
lovingly-prepared meal. But it was a fictional scenario I didn’t dwell on. I had no idea what the
future of our relationship – if this could even be called such a thing – held. And at this moment, the
only precise point in the future I could think about was the event of my very next immanent orgasm.

I found a tray and went to the massive double-doored refrigerator. As I walked, and moved,

diligently going about my task, the beads rolled inside me, caressing me from the inside, pressing
lightly against every sensitive trigger I possessed. And when I reached into the fridge, bending at the
waist to lean down, the feeling was so full and so rife with pleasure I moaned softly. The men were
in the other room so wouldn’t have heard me, a detail which both relieved me and, inexplicably,
disappointed me. The sensation the beads were delivering was maddening. I was so aroused that a
tiny trickle of moisture began to drip down the high skin of my upper thigh. My pussy lips were
almost painfully swollen, throbbing lightly. My clit was aching with a sweet, pulsing burn. I was so
close to coming that my body felt like it was humming with the build-up.

I could touch myself now, I knew. It would take only the lightest swivelling touch. The

orgasm would crash blissfully through me. I wanted it so badly I wriggled my hips to quell the tide,
or maybe to spark it. But I wanted Alexander’s touch. Like he’d said. Under the table. Right there,
in front of all those lusty men. All I’ll have to do is brush my fingers gently across your clit, and
you’ll come all over my hand, right there at the table. You won’t moan or cry out. You’ll look into
my eyes and I’ll see the delicious pleasure washing through you. And I’ll know it’s all for me.
It’ll be that easy.

It would be that easy. And I wanted it now. I was so restlessly excited I could barely see

straight. My thoughts and focus were blurred by the rage of my need. My sex felt like it was
consuming me with its heat, all swollen and pulsing and barely concealed under my very-short skirt.

I put six beers on the tray and walked back into the great room where the men were seated

around the large oval table. The room was softly lit by several table lamps, which gave off subdued
circles of yellow light. The table itself was lit by several tiny, artfully-placed spotlights that hung
from the ceiling. Through the expansive glass window, the lights of the city were glimmering in the
lively darkness of the night.

Alexander and his friends were holding their cards, placing bets, talking and laughing.

Alexander’s hair was lit by one of the spotlights, giving him a golden halo. These were big,
handsome men, but Alexander was in every way superior. Like a general or a quarterback. Or, like
an olive-skinned CEO. He seemed to glow with an appeal that reached out to me, enveloping me.

I served the beers, leaning over Alexander’s friends to place them, one by one, on the table. I

was aware that my breasts were very visible in my white fitted top. I wore no bra and my nipples
were beaded, poking at the thin fabric. The neckline of my top was low and as I leaned forward, the
line dipped lower, barely covering my nipples. And the beads deep inside my body rolled again with
my movement. I held back a moan but I could not contain a breathy gasp.

The men were still talking but their gaze on my body only stoked my arousal by another

degree. Oddly, I almost wanted to pretend to drop something, so I could lean over fully and expose
the desperation I was feeling. I wanted them to see how wet I was, how ready. I needed some kind
of relief. Any kind of relief.

And Alexander’s eyes were dark. As dark as I had ever seen them. Narrowed. His mouth

was twisted in a pouting sneer. And as I drew closer to him, the flare intensified. I was going to
come. The swell was rising. I was so close.

As I leaned over Alexander to place the last beer on the table in front of him, I couldn’t help

it. His mouth. So close to my straining, swollen breasts. I wanted my aching nipple in his mouth, to
be eased and stroked by the wet silk of his tongue. I let my fingers trace a line through his hair and
down his neck. I didn’t care about the men. I leaned closer, and closer still, offering myself to him.

To my intense delight, Alexander caught my nipple between his lips, biting me gently through

the fabric of my top with his teeth. This time I couldn’t suppress the moan that rose in my throat.

The other men at the table made various noises of approval, surprise and gruff encouragement.

I moaned again as he sucked me through the thin veil of my shirt. “Touch me,” I breathed. “I

need you. I can’t wait.”

Alexander eased my top down to expose my breast and he kissed my nipple lightly as though

to placate me. Then he covered me and made a patting gesture on the chair next to him. “Sit down,
sweet. I’ll teach you how to play.”

But his touch was not enough. I was too far gone. I wanted his mouth on me again, more

forcefully. I wanted him to suckle me and touch me so I could finally find this elusive, infuriating
peak that promised to be so high and so good I was absolutely frantic to reach it. So frantic that I
could comprehend nothing but the billowing, all-consuming need. I truly had gone mad.

Watching his eyes, I pulled the top of my shirt down lower, to expose myself fully, easing the

fabric down to frame and plump my breasts.

“Fu-u-ck,” one of the men said in a disbelieving, drawn-out breath.

I touched myself, rolling my nipples between my fingers. Then I offered myself to

Alexander’s mouth, weaving my fingers through his hair to pull him closer.

“Now,” I breathed. “Please, Alexander. Please suck me. Please put your mouth on me.”

“You want me to take you upstairs, Lila?” he said, beginning to rise from his chair. “I can do

that. If you boys will excuse—”

“No,” I said, pushing him down. “Here. Now.” I lowered myself onto him, straddling his

hips. Through the miasma of my acute, edgy neediness, I wanted to keep him there and to somehow
get closer. Right now. To touch myself to him.

Several of the men were encouraging him. “Come on, man. Give her what she wants,” one of

them said.

“You want me to get you off right here, right now,” Alexander said to me, not as a question but

as a sultry, beautiful definity. He was looking deep into my eyes. “As my friends watch me, with
their eyes on your body. On your breasts and on your mouth.”

“Yes. Yes,” I moaned, almost crying with the anticipation of release.

“Yes,” one of the men repeated. But he wasn’t laughing. He was waiting.

“She wants you bad, man,” said one of the other men, jealousy and awe clear in his statement.

“For fuck’s sake, give it to her,” another said.

“You sure about this?” Alexander said softly to me, and I was kissing him, licking his lip,

dipping my tongue into his mouth.

“Please,” I begged softly into his mouth.

Alexander lifted me up. Bottles were removed from the table instantly, poker chips swept

aside, and I was laid back into the pile of money.

Their hands were on me, holding me down. And Alexander was there, pushing my thighs

apart. “Oh, sweet baby,” he exhaled when he saw how ready I was. His fingers touched the rim of
my sex, skirting lightly across the slippery petals, opening me. I almost died when he kissed me, his
tongue licking the moisture, lapping at me, starting low, exploring. He circled the fiery nubbed peak
of my clitoris, not yet touching it, getting closer, and closer.

It was then that I felt a mouth at my breast. Sucking strongly on my nipple. And then the

other. Hands were playing with my hair. Someone was kissing my shoulder.

And then, it was as if the world had taken on a dazzling brilliance, and all of it was centered

at that one throbbing sweetspot. Alexander began sucking on my clit and at the same time, he reached
two fingers into me, slowly pulling the beads out. The swell was bright and immediate, the intensity
excruciating. From my swollen, pulsing sex to my belly to my tender, marauded nipples, the pleasure
rose in a vibrant swell. I was moaning something. Oh God oh God please yes, or something equally
profound. Alexander’s fingers delved into me, forcing the pleasure deeper, and further. Sucking on
the unendurably sensitive center of the cataclysm. Ecstasy overflowed, gripping me, setting paradise
loose, wringing me through wave after wave of electric, unending bliss. I don’t know how long the
orgasm lasted. Many, many minutes as my body was plucked and played. I entered a state of being
where nothing mattered, save the infusion of joy erupting throughout my being.

But then, when the waves finally died down into still-ecstatic ripples, Alexander, as if he’d

been so distracted that he’d only just noticed that there were others not just in the room but in fact
touching me and tasting me with increasingly ardent intention, slid his arms under my knees and
behind my shoulders, picking me up. “That’s enough,” he said. “Hands off. She’s mine.”

The men didn’t protest but their eyes were ravenous. From the way Alexander held me, I

knew they could see the swollen lips of my still-pulsing sex protruding from between my clasped-
together legs.

With that, Alexander carried me up the stairs to his bedroom, kicking the door closed behind

us with a decisive click.

Alexander

All this had gone way beyond the limits of my tolerance or control. She had the power to
blind me to everything but her. She’d begged me to suck her and taste her and make her come right
there on the fucking poker table. And I’d done it, only aware of her, like all the focus of the room
was diverted to her mouth and her nipples and that pinkly sublime, newly-realized center of my
universe that clenched softly around my tongue as she climaxed, and tasted sweeter than anything on
this entire fucking goddamn Earth.

In my stupor I’d blanked on the fact that my boys were touching her. Will, who runs the

second, larger and more crucial of my investment companies had been kissing her mouth. Jon, my old
junior year roommate from Princeton had been sucking her nipple, running his hands over her body.
Mark, Skyscraper’s senior editor, was all over her other breast, feeding on that purity and that divine,
immaculate essence that was mine. Mine.

All of them. Everywhere. Getting more and more eager. If I hadn’t grabbed her and taken her

out of there, I had no doubt things would have gone in all kinds of directions I didn’t even want to
contemplate.

She might have even allowed it. Allowed them. She was that overcome. By me. I knew

this. I knew it was me she wanted and to such an extent that, with me, she would do anything. In a
way, I knew it was a reason I’d allowed and in the end encouraged her to come right there on the
poker table. There was a certain satisfaction to acknowledging that uninhibited, frenzy of abandon I
inspired in her, my innocent, wriggling, honeyed little Lila, and for all to see.

The mere thought of my friends and their escalating desire boiled in my brain and infused my

whole body with a fanatical rush. I was suffering from some foreign variety of rage that ghosted
along the fringes of my sanity.

Mine mine mine.

Even as I processed the infuriated, possessive litany, I battled against it. I wasn’t a lunatic,

last time I checked. I wasn’t one of these overly controlling assholes who dominated their women
and lorded over every move they made. That wasn’t me. I was the guy that usually got accused of
being too distant, too distracted, too noncommittal.

But now, as I carried Lila into my bedroom and slammed the door closed, I wouldn’t have

trusted myself to behave in any way that might be considered rational. I placed her gently on the bed
but my lightness was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. I went to the closet where I kept a few gadgets that
had been given to me and which I had never used. I knew myself to be a thorough and experienced
lover who had always been pursued by women, especially after the fact. They always came back for
more. It was me who refused them when I grew bored. But I was also a man who was, as these
things go, fairly vanilla in my tastes. A good wholesome fuck in all its positions and varieties was, to
me, entirely satisfying. Pussy was the aim, the target, the goal, the score. I had never felt the need or
the curiosity to venture down kinkier avenues. Until now.

Lila’s body was a drug I couldn’t get enough of. I wanted everything of her. I didn’t just

want to possess her, I wanted to devour her. I wanted to explore her and to own her and spend
myself in every possibly way onto her and inside her.

I wanted to die that ultimate death over and over. Right now.

I had no clear plans as yet, save one, and I chose a smaller vibrator and a tube of lube. I

wanted to punish her and reward her at the same time. I needed to make her pay for showing herself
to those other men and making herself so unbelievably fucking desirable. I was going to use that
desirability for my own pleasure. I wanted to experiment with her. And I wanted to share with her a
pleasure and pain that was new to us both.

I felt big and mean and resolute.

Her eyes were wide as I approached the bed. She was quiet and still, her only movement the

rise and fall of her chest as she breathed in an up-tempo rhythm. Her radiant breasts were exposed,
framed from below by the loosened neck of her top. Her creamy legs were together and her skirt
barely covered her, so I could see the still-swollen lips of her flushed, bare pussy, glistening from the
candied effects of her earlier climax.

“You’re a naughty girl,” I told her.

Her response to this was to smile shyly and shift her body just slightly, parting her legs. The

movement caused her skirt to rise, fully revealing her sex, and I could see the eager little rosy nub of
her clit, still engorged and blushing from her lingering pleasure.

“Will you forgive me, Alexander?” she asked in her starry, almost-petulant voice. Then, not

waiting for my answer, she rolled onto her side, drawing her knees up. The exposed, rounded curves
of her ass and the plump outline of her pussy down low and in between was enough to turn my hard-
on, which already felt uncomfortably gargantuan, into a beast of pulsing agony.

“No, Lila. I will not forgive you,” I said. “Not until you apologize properly.”

“How do you want me to apologize?” she asked coquettishly. I’m sure she was offering

herself to me this way to drive me insane. Her insolence was making me crazy, not because I
expected her to be obedient, but because I wanted to replace that impish little smirk with a mindless
expression of pleasure-pain so intense it would signal the tight clench of her pussy around my
rampant, explosive erection. I wanted her to suffer like I was suffering.

I stripped off my clothes and I climbed onto her, holding her in place. She was so small and

feminine, she was easy to dominate, to hold in any position I wanted her in. And I was in a
dominating mood. She was still on her side and I held her hip with one hand. With my other hand, I
fingered the lips of her pussy, slick and ludicrously inviting. I slid a finger into the hot hollow,
astounded by how good she felt. I was reveling in the knowledge that I was the only man who had
ever been there, feeling a perverse pang of covetousness. I would protect this little pussy with my
life. I would kill anyone who tried to get near her.

Fuck. What the hell? Now I was becoming not only a raving maniac but also a psycho.

And the worse thing was I didn’t give a fuck.

All I cared about was getting inside. But not yet. I wanted to take my time. I leaned in to kiss

the pillowy furls, licking into her. She tasted like candy, like juicy sex. I put my whole mouth on her,
drawing her in even as I pushed my tongue deeper into her. I found the hard, wanting nub and she
made a little moan of delight. But I wasn’t about to let her come again yet. No way. She wasn’t
going to come until I came right along with her. I would make her as crazy for me as I was for her.

I lapped at her, then licked all the way along her sex, and further up, behind. I licked her

everywhere, readying her for me. Then I squeezed some of the lube onto her backside. I teased her
pussy with one hand and I pressed my finger into the tight little now-slippery cove of her ass, which

caused her to squirm in a futile and unconvincing protest. I increased the pace and the pressure, and
my manic wrath was gaining momentum.

“You wanted those other guys to fuck you, too, Lila?” I growled, hardly recognizing the low,

husky fury of my own voice. “Is that what you wanted? Like this?” I pushed my fingers deeper in an
alternating, rhythmic dual invasion.

She cried out and her hand gripped my wrist.

The sound of her plangent cries brought me back to myself. I might be hurting her, I realized.

I wanted to lace her pleasure with pain to intensify it. But I didn’t want to hurt her or scare her. I
didn’t draw away but just held, allowing her to adjust to my forcefulness. I felt her relax just slightly
at my stillness. Once she’d gone pliant again, I swirled my fingers more gently, until she was
wriggling along with me.

“I want you,” she mewed. “I want you.” Her voice was all pleading. Which is exactly how I

liked it. I felt a masculine surge of satisfaction at her submissive neediness. “Let me show you,
Alexander. Let me show you how much.”

She would show me when and how I allowed it: that’s how this was going to play out. She

could read my controlling state of mind and responded with a female tactic of her own.

In an almost beseeching crawl, she moved. Searching almost blindly, just with her mouth and

her hands. For me. For my monster erection. She sort of nuzzled against me and I swear I almost
lost it right then and there. Her open mouth, rimmed with those shapely, pouting lips, all accepting
and imploring like that. Offering herself and wanting me inside. Needing to suck dutifully on my big
cock. Fuck. It was almost too much to bear.

And my fingers were still inside her.

She began to suckle on me in docile, deferential little draws, kissing my shaft, licking it, then

taking me deeper. And she was rocking her hips along to the deepening exploration of my hands.

I was going to come. Already. I decided to allow it. I knew I would be hard again soon

enough and I wanted to come again. So I went with it. I let her suck the pleasure higher. I could feel
the ecstasy gathering in a molten surge, rising from the roots of my being. I was on the brink, coasting
on a wave of hot, sweet certainty. I couldn’t have held back but I was riding it. My thumb teased her
clit and her body responded by bucking against my hand, squeezing both my fingers strongly as her
mouth clamped moistly around my bursting cock, taking me deeper than she ever had, almost gagging
with her greed. I was coming in rolling, liquid throbs, down her throat, all over her mouth and her
chin. It looked dirty, what I was doing to her. Sexy-dirty and over the line. I was hardly a boy scout
but I’d just come all over her face, for Christ sakes. In the most lusty, abandoned, I-don’t-give-a-
fuck-about-anything-except-coming-right-now kind of way.

It wasn’t that I was disrespecting her. Quite the opposite. I was respecting her so goddamn

much that I was worshipping at her altar with the unrestrained fervor of the devout. She was the most
religious experience I had ever had.

As though to prove this to her, even though she had no way of reading my thoughts, I moved to

cradle her in my arms. I used the sheet to clean her face and I carefully brushed the damp strands of
hair back from her face.

That face. Seraphic and softly sculpted with perfect, graceful lines. Eyes the color of light

green sea glass. Her eyebrows were several shades darker than her hair and not plucked like most

New York women, making her look young, somehow, and inexperienced. The friend must have
overlooked the eyebrow waxing on the makeover to-do list. I liked the effect. The full, natural arch
of her eyebrows gave her a small town look of naïveté and freshness: those traits that never failed to
stir the protective urges in me. Small towns, in my experience, were to be avoided at all costs. Bad
things happened in small towns. Children were vulnerable and darkness crept even into the light.

I knew Lila was fresh to New York. She’d not only told me this but it was clear enough from

her look and her wide-eyed eagerness. She’d arrived only weeks ago, from Princeton, where she’d
lived for three years. I’d seen her résumé and I remembered she came from somewhere in Virginia. I
tried to recall the name of the place and couldn’t. Other than the forgotten name of some nondescript
high school, where she’d excelled academically, a raft of achievements from Princeton, and a few
summer internship details, I knew almost nothing about her.

“Where did you come from?” I asked her with nebulous intention, kissing her eyelids, the

smooth surface of her rounded cheek, the corner of her sumptuous lips.

She seemed to understand that I wasn’t asking for real, specific details, that my question was

more about wonder and gratitude over the fact that I was with her in this moment and couldn’t quite
believe my luck. She didn’t answer me. She turned her face just slightly, parting those lips so my
kiss landed on the open, succulent heat of her mouth.

Once upon a time I might’ve been concerned over the extent of my addiction. But now, with

all that hot invitation, I didn’t give a fuck about what I was losing. I didn’t care if I’d gone past some
kind of self-imposed limit that said I could only feel so much. This was too intense. This pleasure
was too captivating, just from that soft tongue teasing mine. She was taking my tongue into her mouth,
sucking it, and the sensation drilled a white-lit channel of electric need straight to my cock, which
reared up in a sudden, jolted swell. I was instantly and miraculously rock-hard. Again. Already.

My hard-on reignited the dominating beast in me that was remembering how my friends had

touched her with their hands and their mouths. Still kissing her, I lay back onto the bed and eased her
onto me. Her body was supple and willing and easy to manipulate into place. She straddled me and I
held my cock with one hand, touching the crown to her pussy, opening her with my rigid shaft. The
tightness of her astounded me, like pushing into a juicy, magical fist. Each little gain was a triumph
laced with a torrent of gratification. This wasn’t just the derivation of pleasure; it was winning,
conquering the world, fulfilling every earthly purpose with each determined drive.

I couldn’t hold back. I had to have more, to get deeper. I held her hips with my hands, forcing

myself into the moist compression. I was bucking into her like some kind of rodeo hero. She made
little moans and dug her fingertips into my shoulders. Tiny bites that barely registered but that might
have signalled the beginnings of a plea to slow down, to be careful.

In my mind I was slowing down and treading carefully but my body was speeding up. My

need was a wounded bull in a sea of red flags.

Holding her in place and continuing the forceful rhythm, I reached for the vibrator. Flicking it

on with one finger, I held it against her backside, burrowing between the rounded mounds of her ass,
lightly pushing into the place I wanted it. I didn’t plan on pushing too far. She was new at all this.
Two days ago she’d been a starry-eyed virgin. I already knew I was pushing her hard. I just held it
there, gently urging with slippery, cyclical pressure as I lifted into her, sliding deep, again and again.
My thumb found her clit and skated across it, caressing in unrelenting glides.

I worked the rhythm so all sources of sensation converged into one. Incrementally, I

increased the pace.

Her low cry was untamed, a sound a small, feral animal might make. “Alexander,” she

breathed. “Please. Please. I can’t. Too much. Can’t. Please.” Her speech was slurred with the
effects of her rising orgasm. I could feel it coming. Her pussy was tightening. Her clit was a little
rigid nub. Her whole body was damp and writhing with surrender.

“Kiss me,” I said. She seemed to barely comprehend. She leaned forward, her breasts

bobbing and touching my chest. She didn’t so much as kiss me as offer her mouth to me. I slipped my
tongue into her. I wanted to absorb the sounds she made as I thrust into her, driving her past the point
of no return.

She moaned into my mouth as her pussy began its voluptuous spasms, clenching so strongly

around my cock the pain was exquisite, gripping and pulling the pleasure from my body in gushing,
seedy surges. Lila’s body was coiled over me, wholly overcome, rolling and grinding as though to
ease the excesses.

Her movement slowed until she was limp and boneless on top of me. But I wouldn’t let her

disengage. Not yet. I pushed into her again, forcing her body onto mine with my hands and the
buzzing, invading toy. I coaxed another orgasm from her, rocking against her and in her until she
whimpered, mindless, from the force of her final release.

I flicked off the vibrator, easing it from her body and tossing it aside. I let her lay there for a

while. She was completely spent, dazed and replete. I lifted her and took her to the shower. I used
the European-style shower head to wash her, holding the pulsing jet carefully, intimately, to bring her
to yet another dreamy, cyclical rise. I dried her with a towel and carried her back to the bed, holding
her in my arms for a few minutes. Her eyes were closed, her face peaceful. Her head rested against
my chest and I could feel the downy silk of her hair draped across me.

I’d never considered myself a deviant but my thoughts were sliding into crazy, crafty

directions. I reminded myself she was not only my lover but my employee. I could remove her from
the distractions of this city for a while, to a place where she knew no one except me. I wanted her to
be entirely dependant on me for everything. I wanted her to need me. And I wanted to keep her all to
myself.

I’d already berated myself over the subject of my obsession and decided I was over being all

conflicted about it. Fuck it. This obsessiveness was all about protection and pleasure. The extremity
of it would probably pass soon enough and I could return to my blasé ways. But even as I mulled this
thought over, I knew it was bullshit. I couldn’t imagine not being obsessed with Lila. I didn’t want to
not be obsessed with Lila. Sure, the whole overblown scenario was enough to piss me off. But the
only way through a problem was through it. So I decided to indulge my addiction until it began to
wear off, or at least until it began to mellow by a single degree.

I’d detected the smallest edge of reservation in her tonight. I’d pushed her, maybe, just a little

too far.

I could make it up to her by lavishing tender affection onto her and giving her everything she

had ever dreamed of. I could prove to her that I was necessary. That she couldn’t do without me.

My offices had affiliates all over the world. It wasn’t unusual for me to show up unexpected,

to check on the state of my interests on a whim. My employees had come to expect that of me and the
results were, in general, positive. It kept people on their toes. Accountable. I thought I had a

scheduled meeting in Paris I could move forward. And if I didn’t, I’d make one.

Lila had never been abroad, she’d told me.

By far the best introduction to world travel was the City of Light.

I would take her to Paris, and as soon as possible.

When I was sure she was deeply asleep, I tucked the blankets around her. Very, very softly, I

kissed her mouth.

Finding my tossed clothes, I dressed and shut the door firmly behind me. Then I went

downstairs to smooth away any rough edges, to make sure the boys knew beyond a shadow of a doubt
that Lila was entirely off limits, and to finish my game of poker.

BILLIONAIRE (Part 4)

Lila

“Paris.” I’d already said the word three times but couldn’t seem to get my head around the

reality.

“Yes,” Alexander said. “It’s that city over in France with the big iron tower where everyone

talks funny and eats a lot of bread.”

I might have still in a half-catatonic state from the intensity of what had taken place last night.

I’d been taken in directions I had never, ever imagined. I’d not only had, at that point in time, the
most intense orgasm I had ever experienced or even imagined in a pile of money on a poker table as
no less than six gorgeous, rich, virile men had put their hands and mouths all over me, but I’d then
been made love to so thoroughly that I was still reeling from the effects of the remarkable,
unbelievable, earth-shattering triple whammy.

I felt like my soul had somehow shattered and been reassembled. The fit of the pieces was

new and unpredictable, and I was still adjusting.

It was true that Alexander opened doors in me that had never been opened, not just literally

but figuratively. Each time he came inside me, it seemed he was filling me with himself not just
physically but spiritually. Like he was taking possession of me, redefining the chemistry of my body
with his essence. I’d wanted him in me, each and every time. Voraciously. I wanted him in me even
now as we lay naked and sticky from our lavish, hedonistic ecstasies. But there, as a tiny dark thread
against a white field of longing and pleasure and satiation, was a barely-acknowledgeable sense of
unease. Possession. Ownership. Control. There was no doubt that Alexander had gained all of this
and more. I was his and I wanted to be his. But I also wanted to be mine. And I could feel, at the
outer periphery of what was happening here, that I was unsure about the distinction. The power
spectrum was unbalanced in some indefinable way. I was being swept away by him and I could feel
that. But I had no idea how to slow that down or to even the scales. Or even if I wanted to.

I let the thought fade.

I ran my fingers over his chest, circling his nipple, without even fully realizing what I was

doing. We were that comfortable with each other, that the joining and the touching felt intrinsic, like
we’d already become an extension of one another.

The progression had been quick, to say the least. On Thursday morning, I’d been a hapless,

practically-untouched girl. Now, only three days later, I was a fully-bloomed, ripe, sex-crazed,
worldly woman. With a rising, silky erection in one hand and a fistful of hundred dollar bills in the
other. I had no idea why, but our entire bed – I just realized at that moment – was covered in strewn
money.

I sat up a little to take it all in. “Why –” I began.

“I won.”

He must have gone back downstairs after I’d fallen into my multiple orgasm-induced coma.

Alexander turned to look at me. “I won the jackpot last night. In every possible way.”

I blinked at him, smiling a little. I could see that just that small movement, just the blink of my

eyelashes and the curve of my lips, was mesmerizing to him. That he was unfathomably conquerable
just like that. And this susceptibility in him gave me comfort. I was losing myself in him, a little if
not more. There were aspects of this headlong rush that were unsettlingly all-encompassing to me.
But I wasn’t the only one: he was equally overcome. I could read in his eyes that he was charged and
changed by this. He was unsettled, too, by this tsunami of mutual attraction. Maybe he had never had
a weakness before. Before now. I was his Achilles heel and his kryptonite, all rolled into one little
ball of womanly allure.

“And now we’ll have a little more spending money in Paris,” he said.

Paris. Again, I couldn’t quite absorb the actuality. I was going to Paris. Never, ever in my

life had I dared to dream for something so magical. I wasn’t just going to Paris. I was accompanying
my sexy billionaire lover to Paris. Something occurred to me. “When will we leave?”

“Tomorrow night.”

I thought about this. “Alexander?”

“Hmm?”

“Today I’m going to go back to my apartment to pack. And to see Eva before we go.” I didn’t

follow it up immediately but when his expression changed to one of almost stricken complexity, I
added, “All right?”

His mind was working on several levels. His eyes became clouded. “I’ll have a driver take

you,” he said, and his voice had taken on darker fringes. “I’ll come with you. We can go to lunch
from there, if you want. And I’ll take you shopping for anything you need.”

“You already took me shopping,” I reminded him. “I already have more than I’ve ever had.”

He didn’t reply, but he turned to face me and his hand moved to rest on my lower stomach,

just above the triangle of soft curls.

“You don’t have plans for today?” I said gently. “You don’t have things you need to do

before our trip?”

“I might,” he said with a strangely petulant surliness. His hand moved lower, so the tip of his

finger lay almost touching the very top of my sex, where the tiny, softened nub was concealed beneath
the folds of my pussy.

“Would you prefer to go alone?” he asked, prodding further, running his finger along my flesh

to reveal my clit to his careful touch. He used his fingers to lazily form a tenderly-pinching cage,
drawing the nub into his clasp, elongating it, reawakening the slow, intensifying burn. “You want me
to leave you to it?” he said, increasing the pressure, dipping two of his fingers into me as he played
me more insistently, pushing deeper. The pleasure was unfolding from within me. The lips of my
pussy began to tingle and swell. I moved a little, spreading my legs just slightly, almost
inconspicuously, to allow him easier access. My core began to dew with the sweetness of his touch
as he swirled and squeezed and plunged. Further. Higher. Until I was slippery and my hips were
swaying along with his guiding perfection.

But then he stopped.

I made a small sound of complaint, rolling towards him, hitching my leg over his hip, offering

myself in an open invitation.

Blithely, he said, “You didn’t answer me.”

I stared into his dark eyes as my pussy throbbed with his injustice. “What was the question?”

“Do you want to leave me for the day, to take care of whatever it is you need to take care of?”

he said, his mouth curling into that manly little pout that drove me crazy.

“I – I don’t know,” I said. I knew he was testing me. I knew he would only give me what I

wanted if I gave him what he wanted. I might have felt an inkling of concern at his tactics. I could
have protested, and stood my ground. But then again, why did I need to take time out from this new,
überintense connection anyway? What did I have to gain by spending five hours without him, when I
knew I’d spend the entire time counting the seconds until I could return to him, to touch him and taste
him and be wholly at his mercy. As I was at this exact moment.

I leaned closer, touching the tips of my breasts to his chest, swivelling my hips against the jut

of his erection.

His finger returned to me, resting oh-so-gently on the hardening peak of my clit. “Because I

could take you,” he murmured, kissing my lips. “If you want. If you want to spend the day with me.”
His finger swirled skillfully as he kissed a trail across my jawbone, and the fiery beauty began to
rise. The deep swirl of my climax was forming, gaining momentum. I tried to kiss his mouth but he
pulled back, and his hand once again disengaged, sliding to my leg which he held firmly. “Only if you
want me to.” His eyes were as black as the deepest, darkest night.

But I reached for his hand, releasing his fingers one by one until he relented. I placed his hand

between my legs, pressing him against me. I kissed his lips, pushing little licks into his mouth, tasting
him, offering, giving, surrendering. Anything. “I do,” I said, opening my legs and my mouth wider in
a compliant supplication. “I want you to take me. I want you with me. I want you to come with me
everywhere I go.”

Even before I’d finished speaking he was pushing his cock into me, giving me everything I

wanted, feeding my pleasure with the thick, skewering gift of his body. He was both gentle and
fierce, creative yet aware, entirely focused on my bliss, which would mirror, trigger and define his
own. We came together, of course, and the pulse of our simultaneous release was resounding and
restorative and absolute.

Everything seemed a little off-kilter when Alexander’s huge, shiny limo pulled up, with us in

it, in front of Eva’s apartment building. Like we’d just flown in to this grimy side street on a
gleaming, otherwordly alien mothership.

Despite the searing intimacy of the past three days, I felt a little awkward when I asked him,

“Do you want to come up?”

I could sense that he was quietly curious – God knows why – and Eva had practically been

bursting with anticipation when I’d called to tell her we were coming to pick up a few things.

“The billionaire? Are you shitting me ?” she’d screeched. I’d ignored the topic then and I

ignored it now. Almost.

“Sure,” he said casually. At least he wasn’t dressed in an Armani suit that cost more than the

shared rent of our apartment or some such. He wore jeans and a nondescript black cotton long-
sleeved t-shirt. Aside from the limo, he could almost have been a normal, regular guy. If you didn’t

stare too closely at the watch, which was Swiss and might have been solid gold, the way it gleamed.
And the shoes; even though they were basic and leather, they probably cost more than I’d earned in
my entire lifetime. Which, admittedly, wasn’t all that much.

The driver opened the door for me and I climbed out. Alexander followed. It felt definitively

weird, to be standing in this place that was familiar but now entirely changed. Alexander was like a
giant sun, casting his tall, black-haired light onto the dingy and the mundane, recasting the world and
my life with his brilliance. As much as I might have questioned this little shared excursion, I found
that I liked having him here with me. I liked this contrast he provided: wealth and beauty where
before there was none.

I smiled at him because I couldn’t help myself. He was gorgeous and a little out of place and

wholly in the moment, as strange as that moment might have been. And I loved him for it. Loved.
No. I backtracked on that overblown sentiment. I found his accepting, I’m-with-you manner
endearing. Wildly so. “This is it,” I said.

He crooked his arm and smiled back at me. “Shall we?”

I linked my arm through his. When we got to the door, I fumbled in my bag for my key, but

before I could find it, the door-opening buzzer rang. Eva. She was expecting us, with eager
anticipation, so it seemed.

Alexander held the door open for me and we entered the somewhat-gloomy foyer where the

little hospital-green mailboxes and their rusty keyholes took up almost the entirely of the left wall. I
hadn’t even gotten around to adding my name to Eva’s mailbox and as we walked past them I
wondered if I ever would. I found the realization that this, now, might never happen surprisingly
appealing.

The tiny elevator – smaller and much less plush than Alexander’s own private elevator, I

couldn’t help contemplating – took us to the third floor. The door to 3F was, unsurprisingly, open and
filled with the excitable vision of Eva, who was dressed to the nines, in a blue wraparound dress, full
makeup and carefully blow-dried hair. I guess it was warranted; billionaires didn’t visit 3F all that
often.

And, while I was overjoyed to see my best friend, I couldn’t help feel a small flicker of

competition. She looked beautiful, as she always did. She had dark, auburn-highlighted long hair, a
willowy figure and an interesting if not textbook-pretty face, and she exuded a liveliness that most
people were drawn to. Alexander, however, was watching me.

Eva’s eyes widened when she saw Alexander and she was, very uncharacteristically,

momentarily speechless.

“Eva, meet Alexander. Alexander, my roommate, Eva.”

Alexander took her hand and planted a kiss on the back of her knuckles in an old-fashioned,

gentlemanly gesture. She was positively gushing with excitement. “Come in, Alexander. It’s so nice
to meet you.”

Eva ushered us into the tiny apartment, which was as clean as I’d ever seen it, if still

appearing more than a little run-down, especially after the extreme opulence I’d gotten accustomed to
over the past three days. Extreme opulence, I was finding, was very easy to adjust to.

Eva froze as she noticed my boots, the ones Alexander had bought me at Barneys. “Oh my

fucking God, Lila. Are those Balenciaga?” In fact they were.

She was circling me, fingering the new dress I was wearing, a thin film of pink cashmere, and

the fur neckline of my outstanding new coat, which I’d left untied. She laughed a little. “Well, I have
to say it. My makeover barely scratched the surface. Alexander’s, however, has completely
transformed you.”

I smiled back at her, thinking to myself that her comment might have been the understatement

of the millennium. I felt like an entirely different person to the half-dressed, virginal waif who’d
bumbled my way to a random job interview last Thursday.

“We can’t stay long,” I told her, suddenly feeling unusually confined in the tiny room. The one

small window gave an uninspiring view of a brown brick wall. “I’ve just come to pick up a few of
my things.” I wasn’t sure how to bring this up casually so I just blurted it out: “We’re leaving for
Paris tomorrow. On business.”

Her mouth dropped open. She stared at me, then at Alexander, who was sitting on the forlorn

plaid couch, looking like some kind of Greek god who’d decided to slum it with the mortals for the
afternoon just to see what mundanity felt like for an hour or two before transporting back up to Mount
Olympus to drink ambrosia and party the night away with Apollo and Aphrodite.

I suddenly didn’t feel like there was anything in this apartment that I actually needed. I didn’t

want any of my old clothes anymore, or my favorite handbag that now seemed cheap and nasty. Or
my bulky canvas duffel bag that I had thought I might use.

I didn’t want any of it. What I wanted to do was leave.

“Will you join us for lunch?” Alexander asked Eva.

I loved Eva. I’d known her since my freshman year at Princeton, when she’d been a

sophomore. When I’d skipped my sophomore year, having completed some college-level classes
when I was still in high school, and taking an almost-double load of classes my freshman year, Eva
and I had struck up a friendship in our shared American Literature class, as juniors. She was a bright
spark and a willing listener and she’d brought me out of my shell little by little. Of course I hadn’t
told her everything. Some secrets were just too deeply buried. But I’d shared more of my life story
with her than anyone I’d ever known. She was a light relief against the dark chasm of my past and my
dogged focus on achieving against the odds.

I felt guilty for the flicker of relief I felt when she said, “I’m so pissed off. I would so love to

come with you two, but the law firm I work for is having a retirement party for one of the old partners
this afternoon. I can’t really get out of it. It’ll be tedious as hell. But if I want to land a real job once
this internship is up, I’ve got to kiss ass and do as I’m told.” She turned to me. “Kind of like you
have to do for your new employer, right, Lila?”

She meant it as a joke; Eva was too kind-hearted to intend anything callous or mean-spirited

by the playful comment. But something about the reality of the jibe dug deep. Was that what I was
doing? Kissing his ass and sucking his cock so I could wear Balenciaga boots and be taken out to
lunch and flown to Paris? The perks of my new arrangement were too many to list, too life-changing
to analyze. I wanted all of it. Right now. I wanted to distance myself from this shabby little
apartment and my depressing history to ride into the sunset with Alexander in his limo, to be met by
his lear jet and to rise over a glimmering horizon.

I walked over to Eva and gave her a heartfelt hug. I honestly didn’t know when I’d see her

again. “Have fun at the party. I’ll give you a call when we get back.”

She hugged me close. I could feel her support and also her envy. Both of us had tears in our

eyes as we drew apart. I don’t think either of us knew what we were crying about except that we
could both feel it: a change. In me. “What did you want to pick up?” she asked.

“I decided I don’t need anything,” I said. “I just wanted to see you.”

Alexander was checking something on his phone and missed the intricacies of our exchange,

making the off-hand comment, “We’ll get you anything you need once we get to Paris, Lila. You
won’t have to pack much.”

I went to him, touching his neck in a feathery stroke, signalling that it was time to go. When he

glanced up at me, he looked a little puzzled, as though he hadn’t expected our visit to be so quick. He
studied my expression with more intent, seeing that I was upset even if he couldn’t decipher the
emotion behind it, reading my desire to leave, understanding that there were no material possessions I
wanted from this place. I wanted to move on. This pleased him, I could see this. And instead of
feeling uncomfortable with his smugness, I welcomed it. I felt smug, too. I felt possessive of him to
the extreme, and connected. I wanted to own his beauty. The silky texture of his mane of black hair
was for my fingers alone. His handsome face was for me. His smile. His lips and hands and his
body. Mine.

I forced a light-hearted wave and smile and promised Eva I’d call her as soon as I could.

The elevator couldn’t come fast enough. I reveled in every step that took me closer to the

decadent enclosure of the limo. As soon as the driver closed the door behind us, sealing us into the
rich, luxurious haven, I breathed a sigh of relief. I crawled onto Alexander’s lap and I let him hold
me and kiss me. I let him ease my coat from my shoulders and lay it on the seat. I let him roll the film
of my cashmere dress up my body to my waist. He let me unfasten his jeans and hold his silken length
in my hands. I worked him with care until he was massively, rigidly aroused. He let me straddle him
and guide him to the tight cove between my legs. I let him push his thickness into me, aggressively. I
wasn’t wet; I was too overcome, too confused and yet not confused. I knew what I wanted. This.
Him.

It hurt a little, his forced, invited possession and the tears that had begun when I’d said

goodbye to Eva returned, wetting my face. I wanted him deeper and I eased myself up, bouncing onto
him until he was fully inside me. He pushed my dress higher, revealing my full breasts, taking them in
both hands as he guided them to his mouth, sucking one flushed, sensitive nipple, then the other,
licking me with his tongue. He was panting lightly, groaning each time I gyrated my hips against him
and squeezed him strongly from within. I was coming, despite the light pain, and because of it. The
ache was laced with shards of light and longing. The clenching spasms of my release were manic and
wild, sucking him deeper into my body. Alexander’s growl was feverish and fraught as his colossal
cock pulsed violently inside me, filling me with liquid warmth, setting me off again into long,
shimmery waves of pure ecstasy.

I had no intention of disengaging. I writhed and wriggled, holding him in my arms, clasping

my pussy around him with devoted, adoring compression, kissing his face as yet another orgasm
flooded through me. My tears continued to pool, and to fall.

“It’s all right,” he was whispering, wiping my tears with his fingers, kissing my face. “You’re

all right.”

I just kept on coming.

Alexander

Monday morning rolled around and for the first time in my goddamn life I was completely

uninterested in conquering the world of business, publishing, investments or anything else. The only
thing I was interested in conquering was the luscious depths of Lila’s pink, perfect pussy, which was
already softening and awakening under the careful marauding of my tongue as I licked into her,
feeding on the nectar of her taste.

I could not fucking get enough of this girl.

The juicy sweetness of her was more addictive than any drug I’d ever experienced. Not that

I’d sampled all that many. I’d been too preoccupied with trudging my way up the corporate ladder
for recreation, chemical or otherwise. I’d witnessed the effects drugs could have on people from a
young age and had decided early on that I wanted nothing to do with the kind of damage I’d worked
my entire life to undo.

This addiction was separate from all that and it was bigger than morality, drive or reason. I

could only hope that it would begin to fade once I swept her away to Paris for a week to indulge at
my whim, without distractions.

Not that indulging my whims, which I had done pretty much constantly since she’d walked into

my office late last week, was doing anything at all to slake my desire. In fact, it was doing the exact
opposite. The more I had of Lila the more I wanted. Every little feast only made me hungrier. Every
touch only made me more devoted. Every release only fed my frenzy.

Like now. I ate at her like a starving man who’d been given the last, ripest fruit on a solitary

tree: the only fruit. And that was the most fucked up thing about this. It almost worried me. That I
might be spoiled for anything else. Nothing else would ever taste this good. Like honey and milk and
sunshine and moonlight all wrapped up into one squirming little nubile package.

I was drifting on sensation, immersed in the pleasure wholly derived from her taste, which

leached into me through my mouth and drugged me with warm, zealous lust. I let my tongue dip into
her as I kissed and sucked and ate into the softness. My cock was hot, aching and ferociously hard.
Painful but in an almost succulent way, like I was getting ready to burst, riding the high but holding
on. I was spilling but not yet coming.

She was awake but still drowsy. Her fingers weaved themselves through my hair. She

pushed weakly against my head as though to displace me.

“Alexander,” she cooed, scooching an inch up the bed. Retreating. “Don’t.”

At first I thought I misunderstood her. Don’t?

A dart of panic flickered somewhere outside the periphery of my bliss. She couldn’t mean

‘don’t.’ She probably meant ‘more’ or ‘faster’ or ‘please.’ None of those words, true, sounded
anything like ‘don’t.’ And she was pushing again at my head.

It was fucking pathetic and I cursed myself even as I was doing it. I was about to obey her, to

look up at her and see what this was about. But first I wound my hands more securely around her hips
and pulled her closer. I sucked on her pussy lips, touching her clit with my tongue, circling and
teasing, hoping it would be enough to make her forget whatever small protest she was about to make.

She did moan, softly, but there was that word again. The one that made me want to behave

like some sort of psycho caveman and tie her down and make her give in to me. She’d allowed me
anything I wanted so far and the thought of her refusing me now sent a billow of dark despair through
my gut.

She said my name again, curling it across her tongue like a flavor. Just the sound of it, like a

wet dream on a hot night, was enough to almost fucking undo me.

Hell.

It took a ridiculous amount of effort to disengage. I looked up at her. Her golden hair was all

disheveled, framing her face in a wild-kittenish halo. Her rose-colored lips were sultry and plump,
her pale face touched by pink flashes of color just under her cheekbones. Her breasts were full and
young and unbelievably beautiful.

“It’s Monday morning.” She pointed to her watch. Her cheap, black plastic one. It looked

chunky and wrong on her peachy perfection. I put it on my mental list to buy her a gold one at my very
first opportunity. “Almost nine o’clock. You might want to … you know. Not do that right now. Just
in case.”

Ah. The reason we’d abandoned any pretence at birth control, after the fact.

I felt absurdly relieved. That that was all this was about. She wasn’t pulling back from me

or calling foul or wanting less.

She was warning me. Her time of the month was upon us.

Always before, with past girlfriends, any reference to the ins and outs of womanly cycles and

whatnot had been enough to find me extra busy at work for five days straight. Dinners out. Meetings
and trips and whatever. Disinterest spurred by the smallest dose of disgust was normal behavior. I
was a man and therefore one step removed. As it should be.

Or so I thought.

As with everything else, Lila redefined the way I felt about this. In fact I felt more turned on

than ever. The relief that had cooled the poisonous effect of my initial panic fed my fire. Milk and
honey. Sweetness and sex. Life. Blood. Death. It was all one thing. Right here in this suddenly-shy
little nymph who made me feel more human and manly and alive than I ever had. I wanted to taste her
fertility. To bask in it. To own it.

“I don’t care about that,” I said. “Let me.”

I kissed her pussy, very softly. She was propped up on her elbows, watching me.

“Alexander,” she said again.

I waited, breathing on her, letting her feel the humid strikes of my breath on her sex, wetting

her, warming her. “I want to taste you, honey girl,” I said, low and almost pleading. “It’s all right.”

She liked this endearment, this reassurance. She drank it in, like she had yesterday in the

limo. For some reason, she absolutely craved these comforting murmurs.

And if there was something Lila craved, I was going to fucking give it to her. As much as she

wanted, times ten. “It’s all right,” I crooned, softly, carefully, kissing her again. “I want to taste you
so bad. I won’t hurt you. It’ll feel good. I’ll make you come, then well take a shower and I’ll wash
you. I’ll help you pack.” I punctuated each sentence with a light, open-mouthed kiss on her
blossoming pussy. I could already tell she was beginning to relent. The movement of my mouth
against her sex was having its effect. “We’ll go to your doctor’s appointment and get your pills. I’ll

tie up a few loose ends in my office and we’ll get the night flight to Paris.” A gentle, sucking caress.
“We can sleep on the plane. I’ve got a king-sized bed on my jet. You don’t have to worry about
anything.” I licked her, and let my tongue sink deeper into her tight core. When I looked back up at
her face, her lips were parted. Her nipples were beginning to bud. “There’s a little five-star hotel on
the Left Bank that keeps a room for me. You can see the Eiffel Tower from the window, and there’s a
balcony. I’ll buy you anything you need. Anything you want. I’ll show you the sights. I’ll take you
places you’ve never been. I’ll take care of everything. I’ll take care of you.”

Her smoky green eyes were rounded and shiny. She lay back, her tension easing, and her

hands were in my hair, grabbing fistfuls. “Alexander,” she said. But this time there was no doubt in
her voice. She said my name like I was a savior and a saint, not a debauched, hedonistic addict.

I didn’t know what I was.

But the metallic, liquid tang of her was new to me. The flavor and the experience blew over

my soul like a breeze from wonderland. I feasted like a hunter consuming its prey. I wasn’t a
scoundrel and I wasn’t a beast, but I was completely alive. She came several times and I barely
noticed. I was entranced in mists of tenderness and need. And when it occurred to me to climb up
her body and immerse myself in all that lovely, gory beauty, I lasted only minutes. Like some kind of
Dracula-turned-Neanderthal, all I could think about was releasing my seed into that exquisite,
ravenous mess. Nothing had ever felt so pure, or so real. I loved it I loved it I loved it.

Even worse, I loved her. And I was going to keep her to myself and show her the best time of

her life in Paris and London and New York and everywhere else. I was going to give her everything I
had.

I loved her.

Fuck.

She was curled up by the window, looking out at the moonlit clouds and the darkness of the

night.

“I can’t believe we’re flying over the middle of the ocean,” she said in her angel’s voice.

She was nervous about flying. She’d never flown before and her vulnerabilities were more

amplified tonight. She was naked, wrapped in a quilted down comforter. I was feeding her bites of
filet mignon I’d asked the chef to prepare. Iron and protein, that’s what she needed at times like
these, so I’d read somewhere. But she hadn’t eaten much. She sipped from a champagne flute.

“I think we’ve just about reached the coast,” I told her. “Do you want to sleep a little?”

“No. I can’t sleep.” She looked small and lost despite the plushness of her surroundings. I

knew she’d never been off American soil before and that her excitement was laced with a tinge of
unease. Something about her position, almost fetal with her arms hugging her bent knees like that,
flicked up a haunting déjà vu. Of Jake, sitting just like that, at a window in our beach shack, watching
– although I hadn’t known it at the time – for the predator that sometimes came in the night. I forced
the image into the dark recesses of my mind, but the protective melancholy lingered. It wasn’t the
first time the vulnerabilities in Lila reminded me of my brother, who I’d spent my entire life
doggedly, fiercely safeguarding. And it made me wonder about her. About what her insecurities

stemmed from.

I’d already admitted to myself that I loved her.

And I knew almost nothing about her.

This was not terribly unusual. I’d been accused, more than once, of being disinterested and

disengaged from my love interests of the past. Cold workaholic. Commitment phobic. Uncaring
asshole. Self-absorbed prick. I’d been charged with every crime in the relationship book. And I’d
accepted the accusations willingly. They were true, after all. I knew this about myself. Until now, I
hadn’t really cared to change what I’d assumed was just a glitch in the mechanics of my soul.

With Lila, though, I found I wanted to learn. Everything. All of it. I wanted to gently,

carefully dig into the painful memories in her past, whatever they might be, and fix them. With sex
and diamonds and lust and clothes and travel and excess, I wanted to ease whatever burdens she
carried.

For her, I wanted to learn how to love.

What bothered me was that I didn’t have the first goddamn clue about how to go about doing

this. Love was unchartered territory for me and I’ll admit the whole idea of it was fucking freaking
me out. But at the same time, I was willing to step off the nearest cliff for this coiled up little nymphet
with the mussed-up hair and the shadowed green eyes.

Where to start? Something that might frame the bigger picture, maybe. A detail that would

provide the beginnings of context. “Where were you born, Lila?” It sounded strange. Overly
random. Out of place. But I was now committed to eking some of this story from her in an attempt to
begin to get closer.

She stared at me - glared, actually – and her mouth tightened into a puffy little pout. I could

see that she had no intention of answering me.

“I want some chocolate cake,” she said, and the youthful petulance had returned.

All right. So she needed more time before she would let me past even barrier number one.

I had time. I had all the time in the world.

Several slices of cake had been served with the meals. As I went to retrieve them, I noticed

the paper bag we’d brought, given to Lila after her appointment at the doctor earlier in the day. I
opened the bag and took out one of the birth control pills she’d been prescribed.

I sat down next to her, holding the pill up to her mouth. “Open,” I said. “You can wash it

down with the champagne.”

She obeyed and I placed the tiny pink pill on her tongue. She took a sip of champagne,

swallowing it.

“Now you can have your cake.” I fed her the chocolate cake, and she ate most of it. I wanted

to make sure she was getting enough to eat. She seemed thinner than she had even a few days ago,
possibly because we’d been having sex non-stop without taking regular breaks for meals. Something
I would make sure to remedy once we got to France. I didn’t plan on compromising the frequency of
our lovemaking, not at all. I had grand plans, in fact, that were gaining momentum in my mind. I had
plans that were transforming the perpetual semi hard-on I sported in her company to a full-blown
Goliath that was now straining uncomfortably against my belt buckle. I wore no shirt and I unfastened
my pants. Her eyes were on me, only worsening the effect of my rampaging arousal.

But I would make sure she was well fed. She could stand to put on a few pounds. And if

there was anywhere in the world that was ideal for that particular goal, we were headed straight for
it. All that butter and cheese and chocolate and bread. Sauces and fondue and wine and pastries.
And I planned to feed it all to her myself, bite by gooey bite, as I gorged myself on her beauty and her
pleasure.

“How are you feeling?” I asked her, topping up her champagne. “What can I get you next?”

She smiled, watching my face, taking another sip of her drink. “You’re so kind to me,

Alexander. How did you get so kind?”

I wasn’t sure how to respond to this. Was I kind? In my own mind, I felt ravenously selfish,

fixated, desperate to do anything that would get me closer to her flawlessness. To partake in all the
sensations of her was worth any amount of self-sacrifice. If that’s what kindness was, then I could do
kindness.

“I thought CEOs were supposed to be ruthless and insensitive,” she said, and the duvet

slipped off her shoulder as she turned to me, exposing her milky-white skin, which cast its aura over
my existence, bathing me in lusty devotion.

The line of the quilted blanket slid lower, revealing the impossibly pert swell of her breast.

Her nipple was the color of flesh and fantasy, perfectly shaped.

“Oh, I’m very ruthless,” I said, unable to bear this separation any longer.

She smiled, showing her white chicklet teeth. Her taunts were breathy and soft. “You’re not

ruthless.”

“I am,” I insisted, unwrapping the duvet, almost losing it completely at the sight of her

opalescent nakedness.

“Show me,” she said. “Show me how ruthless you are.”

“Show you how ruthless I am,” I repeated, reclining her seat, separating her knees. I tugged

gently on the fine white string and slid the small cotton plug from inside her body, wrapping it in a
napkin and disposing of it. I let my pants fall to the floor and I kicked them away. I lifted her, sitting
her onto my lap. “I’ll show you ruthless but I want you to see the lights.”

She crawled onto me so her back was resting against my chest. I lifted her, opening her with

my fingers, fitting my cock to the paradise of her hot hollow, sliding into her as she squirmed and
gasped from the insistent depth of my invasion. She wanted ruthless. I sunk myself to the hilt. I held
her hips firmly against me as I rose deeper into her, without retreat. The tightness of her was
indescribable, gripping me into her brutally snug, slippery embrace. She lay against me, her head
lolling on my shoulder, allowing total possession, meeting my drives with acquiescent presses of her
hips as she rocked back against me, arching her back in a submissive, rolling response.

My fingers found her swollen little clit within the silken folds of her pussy, which I teased and

played as my other hand fondled those magic nipples. I bit gently against the fuzzed, dewy skin at the
back of her neck, thrusting again and again into heaven until her pussy tightened around me with
almost excruciating beauty, forcing the spooling pleasure from my cock in violent, rhythmic throbs.
My ecstasy was complete.

“Look,” I gasped, holding her head.

Lila gave a delicate huff of delight.