Taken by the Billionaire (3 page)

I closed my eyes and gasped as I tried to calm myself down and breathe normally. I felt dizzy and light-headed, almost as if I was outside my body and looking in on myself. I watched from some strange, unknown vantage point outside myself as Peter first groaned, then gasped in pleasure as he suddenly pulled out of me. He trembled as he took his shaft in his hand, and he only stroked it a few times before he came as well.

Even in my strange, out-of-body, post-orgasmic state, I could feel the hot flecks of Peter’s cum landing against my belly and thighs as his own orgasm overwhelmed him. It almost looked as if it was pulsing—twitching perhaps—as he shot his seed out all over me, each droplet burning for a brief instant like a little drop of fire against my body before it cooled against my skin.

Having confirmed that I was finally satisfied, my brain clocked out and went off to grab a cigarette.

W
hen my post-orgasmic haze finally evaporated—I wasn’t sure whether it was minutes or hours later—Peter was sitting by my side at the edge of the table.

He was fully dressed again, and as I groggily sat up, I realized that I was as well, at least partially. My white bra was once again covering my breasts, my blouse mostly buttoned, and while my panties were still on the floor, my wrinkled skirt was pulled down to fake some modicum of decency.“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Like a snow-covered street,” I said, my face still red and flushed, and when he stared back at me quizzically, I added, “I just got plowed.”

I’d thought of that terrible line months ago, and I never, ever figured I’d get a chance to use it. Now that it was out of my mouth, it sounded incredibly stupid and my face turned an even brighter shade of red.

He chuckled, scooped up my underwear from the carpet, and held it out to me.

“Thank you,” I said awkwardly, and then I gave the pair a quick shake before hastily slipping back into it.

Peter stared at me for a long time before saying anything, and I began to feel self-conscious. What was he thinking about? What happened now? He was through with me, wasn’t he? He got what he came for, so now I was just a liability, I thought nervously. He was going to fire me, wasn’t he?

No, that couldn’t possibly be it! I squelched the uncomfortable thought and locked it away in the back of my mind where it belonged. He wouldn’t do that... would he?

“So... now what?” I asked, and I picked nervously at one of my nails as I waited for the answer.

“I need your help.”

After all my doubts, those four words were not what I’d expected to hear at all. How could I help him? What could I possibly offer a billionaire that he didn’t already have?

Your body?
piped up that same irritating voice in my mind, and I shoved it away again.

“What do you need?” I asked, my voice wavering with uncertainty.

“I promised we’d talk more, so let’s talk,” he said, dropping his executive façade and letting his true Russian accent come through again. “With coffee. Let’s talk with coffee, somewhere else. Not here.”

Was this safe? Did it matter if it was safe? I decided it didn’t. The time for me to worry about safety—about getting involved with my company’s CEO—was probably before I fucked him in the conference room.

No sooner did I nod in consent than he grabbed my hand, yanked me up from the table, and dragged me out the door and down the hall past rows and rows of darkened offices. I had no idea what time it was, but it had to be very late at night now; I’d stayed here well past nine before, and there was always someone still working.

What the hell was going on? My mind spun in circles, completely out of its depths, as we raced toward some unknown destination. I wanted to yell out for him to stop and explain what was happening to me, but I was so groggy and discomposed that I couldn’t get the words out.

I caught sight of a digital clock through an office window. 1:56AM.

Had I really been asleep for that long? Seeds of doubt suddenly sprouted up in my mind. This couldn’t possibly be real. I was not racing down a hall, hand-in-hand with billionaire Peter Ibramovic, who I absolutely had not fucked all afternoon in a conference call!

I pinched myself. It hurt.

What the fuck was going on?

“Hurry,” he ordered, and he tossed me a magnetic keycard and pointed to the elevator at the far end of the corridor. “Use the key for Parking Level One! I will be right back.”

I awkwardly caught the keycard, nearly dropping it in surprise, and Peter bolted down the hall and into an office. I stared down at the silver plastic card. It had a black magnetic swipe-strip on its back, and on the front, it read ‘Parking’ and nothing more.

Well, what do I have to lose?

I ran for the elevator with an incomprehensible sense of urgency. I had no idea why I was hurrying to the elevator, why I was going to Parking Level One—the executive parking lot beneath the building—and most of all, I had no idea why I was even following Peter in the first place! What on earth was I doing?

Earth to Sarah,
I thought.
You’re being an idiot!

The elevator door opened with a loud ‘ding!’ and I stepped in, swiped the card against the card reader embedded in the floor-selection panel, and waited for Peter.

A beam of light appeared on the wall at the far end of the corridor and caught my attention. Someone else was in the building after all. The flashlight beam stopped on a light switch, and I heard the man’s heavy footsteps as he walked toward it.

It was probably just security, I guessed, coming up to see what all the noise was. The company always had someone on-site to keep an eye on the place at night.

When the lights turned on and revealed a tall man, dressed completely in black and wearing gloves and a balaclava, I suddenly realized just how wrong my guess truly was.

“Peter!” I shouted, sticking my arm out of the elevator to hold it open for him.

The man stared at me for a second as if caught by surprise, and then he sprinted down the hall toward me.

Oh god... Peter, where are you?

My mind raced as I stared at the man running toward me, and my blood suddenly went cold as I saw the black, metallic glint from the holster at his hip. What was I going to do? Jesus Christ... he had a gun!

Suddenly, Peter raced out of a side-door and swung a heavy, metal briefcase through the air. It struck the black-garbed man in the face with a sickening thud, and he instantly fell to the ground. I saw a dark red smear on the side of the case, and I thought for a minute that I might be sick.

Peter crouched down next to the man, grabbed his gun, and then checked his pulse. I couldn’t tell if the intruder was alive or dead, but whichever it was, Peter seemed pleased with the result as he jogged over to me.

“Here, hang onto this for a second,” he said, handing me the blood-smeared briefcase, and he ran back into the side office again. I gingerly held the case by its handle, trying hard not to stare at the blood dripping down the side of it.

“Ah, that’s better,” called out Peter cheerfully from the other room, and he emerged with a cup in each hand and ran into the elevator. “Now we can go.”

The door slid shut, and the elevator began its descent from the 46th floor.

“Coffee?” asked Peter after several floors of silence, and he offered me one of the cups before taking a sip from his.

“No thank you,” I answered, crossing my arms and shaking my head.

“Suit yourself," said Peter, and he shrugged and poured my coffee into his and then tossed the empty cup into the corner.

“Peter... you just killed someone.”

“Well... probably. He is probably dead. I still need coffee though.”

“What are you talking about?” I exclaimed in exasperation. “You murdered someone, and you’re worried about coffee?”

He’s totally going to kill me now,
I thought, and my eyes grew wide in horror as Peter stared at me coldly.

“Maybe,” he said, practically spitting the words, “you should keep your mouth shut until you understand what you’re talking about.”

“Okay... tell me what’s going on!” I spat right back at him. I was either an accomplice or witness to a murder, and I wanted to know what the hell he’d gotten me into.

“He would have asked you where I was, and then he would have killed you when you told him,” growled Peter. “If it makes you feel any better, I murdered my murderer.”

He checked the pistol in silence and made sure it was loaded, and then he finished off his coffee as twenty more floors passed.

“I need your help,” he said, finally breaking the silence.

I stared back at him silently, my arms crossed, and waited for him to elaborate on his request.

“It is a lot to explain.”

“Get explaining,” I said, and I quickly reached out and pressed the ‘stop’ button on the panel. The elevator screeched to a halt somewhere between floors seven and eight.

To my surprise, Peter burst out laughing and applauded me. I felt uncomfortable and out of place again. That wasn’t the reaction I’d expected from him at all!

“Very good! Exactly what I like to see in an assistant,” he said excitedly.

“Out with it,” I snapped, ignoring his compliment. He didn’t seem so intimidating to me now that I was both angry and exhausted.

“I am leaving the country tomorrow and flying to Korčula, Croatia to stay with my mother for a while,” he explained, leaning against the side of the elevator next to me. “She is old, and like me, she is in great danger right now. I wish to be where I can protect her.”

“And why do you need me, then?”

“Three things: I truly do need a personal assistant,” he said, counting on his fingers, “my mother is deaf...”

So that’s why he was interested in my sign language!
I thought as the pieces came together in my mind.

Maybe I could work with this. I could deal with being a personal secretary to a handsome, wealthy executive and helping him talk to his mother. What a job that’d be!

Or maybe it'd just get me killed.

What kind of danger was I getting myself into? Was it the same type that Peter seemed to attract—gun-toting masked men? I could very easily be getting in over my head.

Peter stared at me as if waiting for me to say something.

“You said there were three reasons. Go on,” I said, leaning back against the wall of the elevator next to him and folding my arms again.

“You want to know the third reason?” he asked, and he leaned over and gently brushed his lips against my ear.

“It’s because you fucking turn me on like nobody else I’ve ever met, Sarah,” he whispered breathily.

My face flushed at his words and my pulse quickened. No, not now. He’d just killed someone. I couldn’t let myself get all excited over this. What the hell was my body doing? It seemed completely detached from my brain, and it was slurping up the lustful tone of his voice like it was an addict’s long-awaited fix.

“Just now when you got angry at me and stopped the elevator, it told me that I was right—that there was something really special about you,” he whispered, and he reached up and gently twirled one lock of my blond hair between his fingers.

I sighed and closed my eyes as his fingers brushed softly against sensitive curve of my neck. It felt wonderful, even though it shouldn’t be doing anything to me at all right now. Why was I getting turned on like this?

“There is something special about your anger, about your defiance,” continued Peter. “It makes me want you again.”

Without letting go of my hair, he turned on one heel so that he caged me in against the elevator wall with his arms on either side. He drew even closer—his lips nearly brushing against mine—before speaking again.

“It made me want to take you,” he growled. “Right here, right now. I want to make you mine again.”

If there had been a door on the side of my head, my subconscious would have just kicked the rational side of my brain to the curb. The sex-driven lust behind his voice was enough to turn me on as it was, and my body barely needed any coaxing at all when he ran a hand firmly up my thigh and under my skirt. He leaned in, gripping my shoulder with a strong hand, and pushed me back against the wall.

I clutched at the waist-height railing inside the elevator with both hands as he kissed me passionately, and I couldn’t help but moan as his fingers found me down in between my legs. I was wet again already.

I felt disgustingly dirty, but more importantly, somehow deviously sexy. We were in danger, a man had just been killed, and it was as if I’d been swept up into a thriller in the middle of the plot. I had no idea what I was doing, where I’d come from or was going, or even who Peter really was beyond his role as my boss, and I was about to fuck him in the elevator!

“God, you make me want you,” gasped Peter, a frenzied look of desire in his eyes. “I want you naked, begging me for more, screaming in pleasure as I take you—“

My legs trembled as he roughly pulled aside the gusset of my panties and ran a finger over my wet slit, and I moaned instinctively as he whispered all the ways he wanted me and filled my mind with all sorts of deliciously terrible images.

“...tie you down to the bed and torment you, drive you wild for hours, make you beg for me before finally ripping your clothes off and granting you release,” he whispered, and he thrust first one, then a second finger deep into me.

A shiver ran up my spine and I cried out in pleasure. God, who knew that I had such a kinky side? I certainly hadn’t known! Every beautifully disgusting word he whispered, every marvelously dirty way he wanted to take me, turned me on more and more. I didn’t care about how odd this relationship was or how disastrous it could be. I wanted him, and I wanted him
now
.

Another tingling wave of ecstasy rolled up my body and then escaped through my lips as an ardent gasp as he ran his fingers deep in and out of me with a slow, even pace.

Suddenly, he pulled his dripping fingers out of me, grabbed me by the arms, and shoved me into the corner of the elevator. His pants were off faster than my thoughts could catch up to what was happening, and his urgent, passionate kiss muffled my gasp of surprise as he lifted me up in his muscular arms, pinned me against the corner, and hiked my skirt up around my waist.