Boxed Set: Dominated by a Billionaire - Part 10-12: Irresistible Billionaire (5 page)

"Look at me," he whispers, and our eyes meet in the mirror.

Still pressed behind me, he lifts my dress slowly over my hips, without taking his eyes off me, and wedges his pelvis against my butt. I feel his cock harden in his jeans, which gets me all excited. Vadim’s eyes are electric, full of powerful, almost violent, desire. In a single move, my red dress disappears up over my head. My messy hair falls down onto my shoulders. A few rebel strands fall across his face, but he doesn’t brush them away. His right hand wraps around my throat, moves down between my breasts, over my stomach, then onto the satiny fabric of my red polka-dotted black thong.

"I don’t think that the good, little girl Pippa described would wear this kind of lingerie," he groans, as his forefinger plays with the lacy trim.

"You did it," I sigh beneath his fingers. "It was you who turned me into…this."

I can’t even describe the effect he has on me. I can’t admit to him that every morning when I slip on the sexiest lingerie I can find in my drawer, that I’m thinking of the moment when he’ll see me in it.

I mean, the moment when he'll take it off.

"Are you attached to this?" he asks in his husky voice, pulling on the little red bow at hip level.

"You’re the one who’s so well-behaved, asking me permission," I tease him, looking in the mirror.

His reaction isn’t long in coming: Vadim pops the elastic against my skin. I protest, letting out a scream, but the pain only gets me more excited. He knows that as much as I do.

"I’m not going to ask your permission for anything. You are going to beg me," he groans, pressing his furious hand against my crotch.

Almost as a reflex, I undulate my pelvis to enjoy the feeling of his palm. He doesn’t budge an inch.

OK, the game is on.

I slip both my hands between our interlocked bodies, find the button and the zipper on his jeans, manage to lower his pants just under his round, muscular ass, which I give a firm pinch. Vadim doesn’t budge. I tackle his black boxer shorts and free his erection. It is so hard, so long under my fingers that I know he is fighting the same combat I am. Not giving in. Not being the first to beg.

I withdraw my hands and lean forward onto the cold marble. My shiny eyes plunge into his in the mirror. I want to see him curse me. His gray eyes move over my breasts that are squeezed together, still imprisoned in my bra. Then my lover’s eyes, as frustrated as they are greedy, drift down to the small of my back, the lacy border of my thong, and my naked ass that is driving him mad. I arch a little more to rub my butt against his stiff prick. I hear him take a deep breath, trying to control himself.

And he’s managing to, the bastard!

I straighten up and he smiles proudly. But I'm not about to admit losing.

"If you don’t want to do it, I’m going to have to do it myself," I say naughtily, to his reflection in the mirror.

I let my hands stroll over my waist, climb back up to my chest, slip off my bra straps. I squeeze my arms around my ribs to push my breasts against each other. I can see from his gaping mouth that Vadim is enjoying the show. His desire rises as my fingers descend.

He’s not going to let me do it…

I slip my hand under the satiny fabric, going as slowly as I can, so that he suffers every second, for every inch of skin that I touch and he doesn’t. A stifled groan comes involuntarily out of his mouth. He wets his lips.

He’s going to give in soon…

My hand continues its infernal descent and I reach my clit, swollen with desire. I start touching myself, not as well as he would, but enough to make him incredibly jealous. I stroke myself in silence, under the thong, which he doesn’t take his eyes off. His impatient hard-on rubs dangerously up against my back.

I know he can’t hold out much longer…

"Cock tease!" he says, grabbing the satin from behind.

He pulls on the thong in a single jerk, his manly hand ripping the thong against my skin. That hurts. So bad it’s good.

"I win, I think," I say softly, teasing him.

"This time," he replies, deftly unhooking my bra.

As if to punish me, his hands grab my bare breasts and massage them energetically. He releases one to find my pussy, now free and at his mercy. One of my nipples and my clitoris are being manhandled simultaneously. All the pressing, circling, pinching is pure bliss, with his touch that alternates between languorous and jerky. Vadim changes directions, pace, and pressure, in a whirl of uninhibited pleasure. His fingers dance over my body in what seems to be the most perfect choreography. Planned and rehearsed deliberately to make me tremble.

I plunge my hands backwards as I feel myself about to come. I hang onto his unruly hair, pulling it to ask for more, begging him to keep going. One finger enters me while the others knead my burning clitoris. I come violently, with my head tilted back on my lover’s shoulder. His warm breath against my ear whispers:

"It seems to me you begged, so…I win."

"I'm happy to lose for an orgasm like that, King," I tease him, catching my breath.

"The London air definitely makes you very sassy indeed," Miss Lancaster.

"You may call me 'Your Highness' or just 'Princess Alma' – whatever suits you," I joke, resuming my British accent. "As a matter of fact, run me a bath, boy."

"Hmm… You’re going to change your tone or else, Your Highness my ass!"

I take off running through the suite, stark naked, and take refuge first in the bedroom, then in the living room with Vadim hot on my heels. Still wearing his polo shirt barely wrinkled by the frolic and his unbuttoned jeans around his hips. Seeing his ruffled hair reminds me I’m the one who messed it up: I slow down because I’m dying to be caught.

His powerful body presses me up against one of the plate-glass windows. The icy contact on my skin makes me shriek. He kisses and nibbles my neck, warming me up, and his mouth soon joins mine: he tastes heavenly. His tongue is skillful and his lips incredibly soft and sensual. I melt in his strong arms that wrap around me. Both our faces turn towards the window and we stay there a while, admiring the breathtaking view. The Thames, the Ferris wheel, the locals and tourists crowded onto the bridge, the May sunshine beating down hard on London like my heart in my chest.

"I feel like throwing you in the river," my playful lover mumbles.

"You and your love for midnight dips. It’s four in the afternoon! In California, it might sound sexy, but here, not in your dreams!"

"Do you remember?" he asks me, tightening his grip around me.

"In Santa Monica, on Catalina Island… For sure, as if it were yesterday."

"You were always cold. But you swam anyway."

"I would have done anything for you," I sigh, thinking back on our wild escapades. "And after all, you knew how to warm me up."

"So, what about the Thames… Coming?" he dares me, smiling.

"No, but in the tub…"

I head to the bathroom to turn the silver faucet on full blast. The tub that sits in the middle of the room looks as if it comes straight out of a vintage interior decorating catalog: it sits atop four sculpted “lion claw” legs and is big enough to hold both of us at once.

There’d even be room for Alistair and Kali… If and only if we had invited them.

Which will never happen!

The London air is definitely giving me some funny ideas.

My King joins me as the water level climbs and the steam mists up the mirrors.

"I don’t think you’ll be needing that," I say, tugging on his blue polo shirt and pressing him against me.

"Seems to me I’m the king and you're my servant, who is going to undress me," he answers, backing up a step, his muscular arms raised horizontally.

"At your service, Sire. But I can't promise it will be done exactly according to protocol."

I slip my hands under the cotton and my nails climb up his pecs. I get rid of the polo shirt, kissing his chest, his nipples, and his perfectly sculpted abs.

A six-pack just begging to be devoured.

My tongue lingers over his navel, moving down towards his open jeans, which I get rid of in turn. My Apollo is gorgeous with just his slinky black boxers on. I pause to admire him, and then grab hold of his round butt. I start the operation all over again, going under the Lycra shorts: his skin is so soft, his muscles so firm, that a spear of desire pierces through my stomach. I kneel down on the black and white tiling and roll his boxer shorts down along his legs. His hard-on rises up in front of my face. I smile. I have never seen anything so attractive, so manly, so appetizing. My greedy mouth gets closer, but at that moment, the bathtub overflows and a wave of hot water splashes to the floor, getting me wet.

Vadim leans over and lifts me up in his arms, I laugh as I hang onto his neck. Without thinking, he steps into the brimming-full bathtub, then lets us both slide down, causing a tidal wave in the bathroom. His face harbors the naughty grin of a kid who has got exactly what he wanted. Then his big, limber body sinks into the water before coming back up to the surface, his hair soaked and skin dripping. It’s too much for my awestruck eyes.

I straddle him, holding myself up on the wrought iron rims. I take hold of his erect cock and urgently guide it towards my private parts. I shove it in deeply, letting out a long moan. His head tilts backwards against the tub. I start my aquatic business again, this time aided by his thrusts that take me by surprise. Our pelvises fit together in the warm water in delicious undulations. My skin burns all over, but it’s nothing compared to the flames growing between my legs. Vadim’s hands take hold of my hips to enter me farther, stronger. I can’t hold my screams back any longer. His repeated attacks make our wild bath overflow with every back and forth rocking movement. He lifts me up again – I feel like I’m floating – and then he impales me, groaning. His face exudes desire. My body is tense with pleasure. I dig my nails into his wide shoulders, dripping with water. He kneads my ass, making it rise and fall on his cock. In a storm of groans and splashes, we climax at the same time. It unfurls like a violent, unstoppable wave. It jostles me every which way until Vadim comes in a scream of ecstasy, nestled in my inner depths. Without another movement, we let ourselves be rocked by the flow of our stormy sea.

When we open our eyes again, the water in the tub is half gone and the bathroom is totally flooded. My lover looks overboard, amused, then pulls me towards him. I lie back on his chest, my head rising each time he gasps to catch his breath.

"I think you’re going to make me switch to afternoon baths instead of midnight dips," he murmurs, stroking my wet hair.

"I don’t think anyone has ever made me so hot in the water," I reply, smiling.

"Pippa was wrong; there is absolutely nothing well-behaved about you."

"Do we really have to talk about my cousin all the time? I’m going to end up thinking that you–"

He shuts me up with one of his big hands on my cheek and his burning mouth on mine. His soft, voracious tongue devours me again, and I kiss him back. I no longer have the strength to resist.

Wrapped in the hotel’s snug bathrobes, our hair still damp and our bodies aching, we collapse onto the huge bed. Vadim calls room service and orders something to recharge our batteries. When the trolley arrives a few minutes later, there's enough for all the customers at The Savoy to recharge their batteries.

"Did you order the whole menu?" I squeal as he goes looking for a tip for the bellboy.

"I didn’t know if you wanted sweet or savory," he replies, lying down next to me. "You British, you eat sausages in the morning, you drink tea all day and you have dinner at six – how would you expect me to know?"

Under a glass dome, I find a tray of British goodies: scones, cookies, pudding, colored jellies, miniature trifles and all kinds of wafers – which traditionally accompany teatime. Under another dome, there are little portions of scrambled eggs, baked beans, bacon and hash browns. I have to explain to my American what porridge is and which dessert to pour the custard on. He makes a face when he tastes the bitter orange marmalade and the lemon curd that I love so much. He decides to get vengeance by dripping custard onto my neckline before languidly licking it up.

Within seconds, my bathrobe disappears and my body is transformed into a tasting plate: nothing is too good for Mr. King. It seems that my belly button is his favorite spot for nibbling raspberries. He pours a few sugary liquids across my stomach and then indulges in my flavored skin. His fingers stroll over me, his teeth nibble at me. All my senses are boiling. And my breasts quickly become his curious tongue’s favorite playing field. Or maybe he prefers my tummy…

Something tells me this man is still hungry.

Back in Paris after our little London getaway, it’s back to business. This week is even more intense than the last: my lover has recovered his energy, his determination and that damn grin of his. And I've recovered the pleasure of watching him bustle at work on his projects and giving mine my all. Oh, yes! He is also back to his old habit of surprising me with burning looks in public and stolen kisses in the hallways.

My job: live through hell in a little “heaven on earth.”

The exclusive interview with Mr. King – and his silent, well-dressed fiancée, alias me – has put a lid on all the rumors about the boss’s instability, and, consequently, his multinational corporation’s instability. In fact, the King Prod phones have been ringing non-stop since the broadcast: his turning on the charm worked beyond all our hopes. Alistair is taking care of all the new proposals flowing in: dozens of filmmakers from around the world suddenly seem to want to produce their movies here and only here. I know Vadim and Adrian are also “settling the score” with Keith Johnson – those are their exact words, via lawyers. For Sophie, Clarence and I,
Twirling
is still our top priority. The last meeting of the week in the Champs-Elysée office promises to be a productive one.