Borrowed Billionaire #3 Return to Mr. Thorne (2 page)

She walked toward the wall and he directed her to stand with her back to it.

“Now spread your legs,” he said, standing a few feet in front of her.

She wore red shoes with very high heels, as she was so petite, and she was glad she had them on, so she could nearly look Mr. Thorne in the eyes.

“Spread them a little wider,” he said, and she did.

He took the champagne from her hand and set it on a nearby table, along with his. He undid the buckle of his belt, but went no further undressing himself.

Still standing before her, gazing into her eyes, not letting go, he said, “Lift up your dress without moving your feet.”

She timidly pulled at the hem of her skirt, inching it up along her pale thighs.

“Slowly,” he said. “Now. Now show me that strawberry pussy of yours.”

She raised the hem some more, revealing her mound, the front of her crease, and her folds, which were swelling in anticipation.

He took off his belt, dropped it on the floor, and undid the top button of his trousers.

Huskily, he said, “Do you want me to touch that strawberry pussy?”

She nodded.

“I didn't hear you.”

“Yes,” she said.

“Yes, what?”

She blinked at him, looking confused.

He fed her the line, “Yes, please, sir.”

She repeated after him, “Yes, please, sir,” not breaking the connection of their gazes, she with her sparkly, pale blue eyes, he with his hazel eyes that wavered between green and brown.

“Do you know what I'm going to do to that strawberry pussy?”

She nodded.

He undid his zipper and slid his trousers down, and then his briefs.

When she saw his beautiful manhood, so big and strong, just like his arms, her mouth started to water. Her head felt light, like she might faint. Her sweaty palms still held up her skirt, and her legs were spread wide apart. With no underwear on, she was completely exposed, and they were utterly alone. Nobody knew she was there.

He pulled off his shirt so he was completely naked.

“Don't move a muscle,” he said, and he went to fetch the bowl of strawberries. He returned, and held one strawberry in front of her mouth. “Put this in your mouth, but don't chew, and don't swallow until I tell you to. Do you want it?”

“Yes, please, sir.”

He put the strawberry in his mouth and passed it to her with another kiss.

After the kiss, he knelt down at her feet on the carpeted floor. From below her, he swept his hands up and down her legs, first on the outside, and then on the inside. He stopped short of her crotch.

He said, “Why are you shaking? Are you cold?”

“Mm-mm,” she said, meaning no, around the strawberry in her mouth.

He laughed. “Just nervous, I suppose. And you should be.” He stroked her legs again.

Her mouth watered around the strawberry that was melting in her mouth, and her pussy felt red-hot, like it was burning up with a fever.

Mr. Thorne leaned in and gently applied the tip of his tongue to the top of her crease, to the part that looked like a keyhole in an antique door.

She fought the urge to thrust her hips at him, to push his tongue deep into her slit, where she wanted it.
Patience
, she told herself.

He ran his hands up and down her legs, and then he ate her, hungrily, putting his whole mouth against her mound, tonguing and licking and sucking, all at once.

She cried out in surprise at how good it felt, and nearly swallowed the strawberry in her mouth, but didn't.

The heat built up in waves, pushing her up, up, up, into ecstasy, nearly pushing her into the spasm of orgasm, but he pulled back. He pulled back and he blew gently on her pussy.

He voice hoarse and deep, he said, “You may swallow the strawberry now.”

She swallowed as his hands ran up and down the outer sides of her legs.

He said, “Do you want me to fuck you?”

She shook with nervousness, her elbows now slick against the wall with nervous sweat.

“Yes, please, sir,” she said.

He stood, and with one motion, he thrust his cock into her eager, wet, awaiting opening.

She cried out in surprise and pleasure, commingling emotions.

He thrust again, and he was in further.

It felt so good inside her, so hot and urgent. She wanted to feel nothing but his manhood, sliding in and out of her slick opening. Her clit burned, so hot, the width of his cock pulling at all her skin and making the loose skin of her hood taut, to rub deliciously against her clit.

This was what she wanted. It was exactly what she wanted.

He thrust again, and incredibly, he filled her up even more.

She felt her entire body shifting up, and realized her feet were no longer touching the ground.

He pinned her petite body, so much shorter than his own, against the wall, and thrust himself in and out of her. He moved his hands on the backs of her thighs, her ass, and now he lifted her up, supporting her weight with his cock and his arms, her back against the wall, the back of her hair being pulled down by her movement, exposing her throat.

She wrapped her legs around him as he devoured the skin of her throat, pressing his lips and tongue against the sensitive flesh of her neck.

Still he thrust in and out of her, the movements easy, even though he was so large, because her juices were flowing for him, inviting him in, deeper.

His rod seemed to stiffen even more, until she could scarcely believe it was flesh inside her, and not some man-made instrument, and he moved faster, pounding away at her.

The taste of strawberry still lingered in her mouth, and she sought his mouth, to taste him as well.

As they kissed, their tongues finding each other, a little spark ignited deep within her. She prayed silently that he would not change rhythm, would not stop until she came. The warmth spread out in waves, almost unstoppable, almost as inevitable as the sun rising.

She'd let go of her skirt at some point—she couldn't remember when, and now her arms were wrapped around his shoulders, her hands in his thick, black hair.

He shifted back and pulled her away from the wall.

Her eyes flew open, and she was fearful of being dropped, or of them falling, but he was strong, and she was small, and he held her up easily while stroking in and out.

She glanced over to the bed, wondering if he was taking her there, and he walked with her on him, toward the bed, but then stopped.

He spoke, saying, “We don't need the bed.”

Her hands slipped around on his shoulders, now damp with his sweat.

The back of her calf, wrapped tight around his lower back, also slipped a little on his perspiration.

“I'm going to come,” he said, strongly bouncing her up and down on him.

She moaned, the heat rising again, increasing with each movement, each stroke in and out, her clit being massaged by the movement of his girth, and the interior side of her clit rubbing up and down on his gorgeous hard dick.

He made an urgent moan, his hands firmly on her buttocks, lifting her up easily and dropping her, hard, onto him. Again and again, filling her.

She thought about the hot wash of fluid that would be coming from him, bathing her insides, and her orgasm began, pleasurable waves, and then an explosion, blasting out from his cock, deep inside her. She moaned and threw her head back, all her muscles clenching and releasing at once as the pleasure rocketed through her.

His breathing stopped as everything bottled up, and then he gasped and released. He released into her, and she slid up and down on him easily, taking it all. Taking every last drop, every last shudder.

He bit gently into her shoulder, and then, when he was done, he walked them over to the bed. He leaned forward and set her on her back, then he gently withdrew, and crawled up onto the bed, alongside her.

They both glistened in the soft, romantic light of the room. Outside, the sun had gone down, and the city glittered.

He stroked her face. Her hair had changed. She was no longer a redhead, not even that petite. He looked at her, his eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

She said to him, “I love you.”

He kissed her hungrily, lovingly, then pulled back and said, “I love you too, Lexie Ross.”

Meanwhile, at the cafe, the waiter arrived with two drinks, which he said were compliments of a gentleman at the bar.

I was in a daze from the scenario I'd been imagining.

What the hell?

Suzanne had given phone sex talk to Mr. Luthor Thorne, and now I didn't know what way was up or down, and my loins were aching, painfully frustrated.

“Thanks,” I said to the waiter. He scurried off quickly, before he could be embarrassed by us again.

Suzanne handed me back my phone, saying, “That was … different.”

I took the phone and said, “Why did you say you
loved
him?”

Suzanne threw her head back and laughed. “Good grief, Lexie, you must have potatoes growing in your ears. I certainly did not tell him I
loved
him. I told him he had a fantastic body, a gorgeous voice, and that it had been my pleasure giving him pleasure.”

“Oh.”

I stared down at the silly-looking drinks in front of us. They had actual umbrellas in them.

Suzanne turned back and tried to get a peek at the gentleman at the bar who'd sent them over, but whoever he was, he'd disappeared.

I sipped my drink, which was an ice-blended concoction that tasted of strawberry.

The strawberry taste was so vibrant, so good. I felt like I'd never truly tasted strawberry, never understood it, until just then.

Suzanne took her pink yoga jacket off and draped it across the back of her chair. In a silly pseudo-British voice, she said, “If I do say so, I did rather a good job on that fellow of yours. Was it Jacob? It didn't sound like Jacob.”

“Someone else.”

She frowned. “You're not telling me, which makes me suspect he might be married. Listen, Lexie, you do not mess with another woman's husband.”

“He's not married,” I said.

She relaxed visibly and sucked on her drink. Her cheeks were flushed, and I had a pretty good idea about how hot and bothered she'd gotten. Her husband was really going to get it tonight.

I asked her, “Why were you so nervous? In the phone sex fantasy?”

She gazed up at me, her blue eyes looking puzzled. “I wasn't nervous.”

“But you kept saying you were trembling, or your legs were shaking.”

“Hah!” she said. “You must have been hearing things. I said no such thing.”

“Weird.” I slurped the strawberry drink again, feeling incredibly surreal. Each taste of strawberry made the vision I'd had even more real, only it was me behind held up and fucked against the wallpapered wall, and me getting pistoned. On Mr. Thorne. Held up in his strong arms.

Pistoned
.

Yeah, that was the word for it. And it had felt so good, in my mind. So fucking hot.

My crotch started to ache as I replayed the scenario, this time with a slightly taller, darker-haired girl. Me. Standing with my back to the wall, my legs trembling with excitement. Parting my legs and awaiting Mr. Thorne's inspection, and his strong tongue burrowing into my folds.

Suzanne was still talking, saying how if the professional organizing business didn't pick up soon, she might look into the phone sex business, since she was a natural entrepreneur.

“Good idea,” I mumbled.

As I looked at my pretty friend, all pink and flushed with sexual energy, I felt irritated and angry. How dare Mr. Luthor Thorne talk to Suzanne? He should have refused.

If I ever saw him again, in person, I was going to make him pay for fucking her against the wall in the nice hotel room, even if it
had
just been my imagination.

He'd said dirty things to her over the phone, and that part had been real.

He'd be sorry.

On Tuesday, Mr. Luthor called again for phone sex.

He grunted, “Candy.”

“Not available. Do you want Mitzi?”

“Sure.”

I nearly threw the phone across the room. I was knee-deep in clutter, helping a rich old lady rearrange her boxes of collectible porcelain figurines.

The old lady tsk-tsked me and shook her head. “You young people and your telephones. You can't
not
answer it, can you?”

I ended the call and turned the phone off. “Sorry, Mrs. Chong.”

She clapped her hands together and surveyed the mess. Tissue paper and boxes were everywhere, because we couldn't just inventory and stack her collectibles, but she had to take each one out of the box and actually show it to me!

Mrs. Chong said, “How about I have Chef whip us up some lunch so we can take a much-needed break?”

We'd only been at the organizing for less than forty-five minutes, but I was hot, sweaty, and agitated, so I agreed, even though I didn't like to waste time when I was on the clock.