BILLIONAIRE (Part 6) (4 page)

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

I
didn’t trust myself.

Today,
I didn’t have subversive intentions, not at all.  Just the desire to fulfill
her and lull her so thoroughly that I could take my leave for a few hours to
sort out my brother’s problems.

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

She’d
obeyed.

Fuck
.

She
had the power to stun me and energize me simultaneously.  I couldn’t even
think, I could only look, and absorb all that.  Lust so potent it was almost
painful, stabbing into me like hot, sharp knives.  She was reclined on the bed
where I’d left her, curled slightly on her side in the sun, her honey-blond
hair a cascade of brilliant spun gold.  Her curved hip glowed white, the outline
of her both elegant and naughty, somehow, her femininity a perfect blend of
sexy womanliness and mischievous girlishness.  She was still piqued by our
argument, I could see this, but the edges of her ire had softened.  She’d slung
her arm behind her head so her breasts were raised and bouncy-looking.  Lush. 
Like milky, ripe peaches.  Her nipples were still beaded from my hungry mouth.

“Hi,”
she breathed.

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

I
tossed the cloth to a chair and picked up a bowl.  Slowly, I fed her a spoonful
of the ice cream, watching her mouth open.  Her plump, perfect lips closed
around the silver spoon, the creamy white ice cream melting on her tongue.  I
kissed her, licking a taste.

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

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

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

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

“That
feels so good,” she cooed.

I
sucked her other nipple clean, going slow.  I could have sucked Lila’s nipples
for hours.  The taste of them made me feel like the king of the world.  She was
beginning to arch and to writhe in pleading little movements, like she does
when she gets all hot.  Her legs had parted and her pussy looked like a moist,
pink flower.

“Put
some on you,” she said, her voice rasped with passion yet pure and bell-toned,
like she was a fallen angel.

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

Fuck,
I could hardly stand this.  I’d gotten my rocks off less than half an hour ago,
but I was so hard I thought I might explode as soon as she touched me.  Almost
tentatively, I put some of the whipped cream along the length of my cock,
making a thorough job of it, with extra on the head.

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

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

Holy
fucking hell.

Her
tongue licked in coy little flicks, barely touching me at first.  She grew
bolder, taking the head of my cock into her mouth, sucking strongly.  “Mmm,”
she said.  “So good.”

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

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

She
went limp then, as spent as I was.

I
wanted her to come again.  I wanted to prolong her ecstasy into one more peak,
so she could ride the drifting wave into a drowsy, blissful recovery.  I lifted
her carefully, laying her back into the pillows.  Her eyes were closed.

I
knew how sensitive she would be and I was gentle.  I licked her again in a
slow, sweeping stroke and she protested feebly, shaking her head and pushing at
mine.  “I can’t,” she breathed.

“Shhh,”
I whispered.  “You can.  One more.  I’ll be so gentle.  Feel me.  Feel my mouth
kissing you so gently.  Softly, like this.”  With my tongue, I licked her pussy
open.  I concentrated on the engorged little nub, tenderly exposing it,
touching the tip of my tongue to it once, and again, until she was moaning for
more.  With my fingers, I dipped into her, sliding in, curling my fingertips to
stroke her g-spot as I eased her into yet another rippling climax.

“
Oh,
Alexander
,” she cried softly, repeating my name as I prolonged her pleasure
into one last undulating swell.  I kissed her mouth leisurely, then climbed up
to lay next to her.  She had already drifted into a light, dazed sleep.

What
I wanted to do was to sleep beside her, to hold her in my arms for hours.  To
stroke her hair and kiss her skin.  I simply could not get enough of this
girl.  I wondered if I ever would.  I could have just watched her sleep, the
graceful, youthful lines of her face, the curl of her long eyelashes against
her flushed cheeks.  She looked so impossibly young, so extraordinarily
beautiful.

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

Or
somehow steal her.

It
was more than I could fucking handle.

I
allowed myself a few minutes with her, so she could feel me close to her.  Then
I silently rose from the bed.  I put on my jeans and a shirt and grabbed my
laptop.  I took my key ring from a dresser drawer and, after quietly closing
the door behind me, I locked it.

Lila

The
lock clicked.

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

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

As
he was doing now.

The
wooden legs of the bed began to slide, making a mournful, dull squeak.  She
wouldn’t hear it.  My mother would be dead to the world this time of night,
bottle laying next to her on the old couch.  She might even be cradling it, as
she often did, like an empty, glass infant.

No
one would stop him.  No one would hear my screams, I knew this.  So I kept myself
quiet, even when he slipped through the crack, closing the door behind him,
looming and large.  He held the key in his hand, the only key, which he used to
lock the door before slipping it into his pocket.  He wasn’t especially tall
but he was stocky, solid.  With lank, dirty-brown hair that hung almost to his
shoulders.

“Why’d
you go and push the bed against the door again?” he said, his voice gravelly
and terrifyingly devoid of emotion.  “You know that doesn’t work.”

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

He
was walking towards me, pulling his belt from its loops.  “I don’t want to have
to use this.  You do as I say without making a fuss this time.  Or you’ll feel
this, hard.”

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

“Take
off your clothes.”

My
hands were shaking as I began to unbutton my plaid blouse.  It had holes at the
elbows but I’d patched them with an old blanket that was almost the same color. 
Two boys at school had laughed at me and called me “trash”.

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

“You’re
too skinny, girl,” he said critically as he circled me.  “I need to fatten you
up some.”  I flinched when he touched my hair, which hung to my waist.  “You
have the prettiest hair.  So soft and blond.”

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

I
felt the bite of bile in my throat.  I knew that taste, of horror and fear.  If
there had been anything in my stomach, I would have wretched.  I unzipped his
pants and took his cool, flaccid horribleness in my hands.  “Run your fists up
and down me, like I like.  Get me really hard.”

I
did as he asked, forcing my thoughts away from him.  To the book I was reading,
about a girl who runs away from home and finds happiness.

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

I
felt removed from myself, like I was floating above, watching my small, slim
waifish body perform for him.

“Open
your legs,” he ordered, gruffly excited.  He was holding himself, working his
own body, feasting his eyes on my vulnerability.  “Now touch yourself.”

My
eyes fell closed as I felt my fingers touch my secret place.  And I screamed
when a jolting pain pierced the left side of my head.  He was leaning over me,
his fist in my hair.  “I said keep your eyes open.  Look at me.  Watch me.”