BILLIONAIRE (Part 3 & Part 4) (3 page)

I touched myself, rolling my nipples between my finger
s.  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 fro
m 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 l
aid 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 bre
ast.  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 eye
s 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 ou
t 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 a
n 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, deferen
tial 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 friend
s 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.