The Billionaire Bundle (3 page)

They stayed like that, barely moving, looking deeply into one another's eyes, for a long moment, slowing down their pace, until finally he withdrew and moved to descend again to lap at the core of her, but she stopped him with a hand.  She pushed him gently on his back, and took her turn kissing down his muscular chest.  She stopped to lick and nip at his erect nipples, and he shivered in pleasure as his shaft throbbed in response.  Before long, she couldn't stop herself from moving down between his legs to taste the hot, stiff core of him.  As she took him in her mouth, his back arched. He gasped his pleasure as she licked and suckled at his mushroom head, delighting in the taste of the two of them mingled.  She licked longingly up and down on the wet shaft, his moans making her throb and swell with longing.  Unable to take it any longrer, she straddled him and lowered herself down onto his throbbing shaft as he groaned with pleasure.  She needed to ride him, to continue her control of him.  Now it was her turn to slide him only slightly inside her, taking him only up to the tip, slowly, making him beg for it as she hovered above him.  Little by little, she slid him in a little further each time, as he grasped her hips and tried to thrust in further than she would allow him.  Finally, she slid slowly down the entire length of his pole and sank him deep inside her, until she could feel his tip hammering against her cervix.  She leaned forward slightly as she slid out so that the top of his slick shaft would slide against her clit, and moaned as she did so.  Her forward position placed her breasts directly in front of his mouth and he sucked greedily on her nipples as she rode him, sliding him in and out as she let out little whimpers of pleasure.

Suddenly, with a roar, he grabbed her by the shoulder and flipped her over on the bed so that he was towering over her.  Once again, he dove between her legs and sucked his clitoris between his lips, licking and rolling her like a marble as he plunged his finger inside her.  She felt the wave of orgasm building inside her and soon she was screaming his name as the world exploded, heat radiating out from the center of her as she bucked against his tongue.  He kept her there, shock wave after shock wave, the slightest pressure of his tongue sending her into a fresh round of spasms.  The pleasure was so insane, so beyond anything she had felt before, that she grasped the bedsheets desperately, as though without the anchor of them she would fly apart.  When she thought she could take no more, he detached his mouth from her, then rose up on his knees and grabbed her ankles, raising her legs up and holding them there as he plunged into her and began to pound into her over and over again, and she began to scream again as a second wave of orgasm hit her, pain and pleasure merging as she first pulled back from the violence of his pounding and then strained toward it, wanting more, wanting the ecstasy to never stop, wanting nothing more than for him to keep fucking her forever.  Finally, he cried out, "Samantha" and she felt him spilling wave after wave of hot seed inside her, as she cried "Yes! Yes! Yes!" The slickness of their juices mingled as they strained toward one another in the final spasms that slowed, finally, as they held on together for dear life and stayed joined, him inside her, as they collapsed together, all they could hear in the quiet room their breathing and the blood rushing in their ears. 

When Sam awoke, several hours later, Patrick was lying beside her, stroking her hair and smiling a peaceful smile. "How do you feel?" he whispered.

"Wonderful," she whispered back.

"Me, too," he said, grinning.  "Wanna do it again?"

"Yup," she said, moving on top of him to kiss him, and then sliding down toward his already-stirring shaft with a wicked grin. "And then, you're buying me breakfast. We need to keep up our strength.

#   #   #

Christina Jacobs
stepped off the train at her stop, sighing with contentment to be home from another grinding day at her temp job.  It had been a long day of demands from different bosses with different deadlines and different expectations.  She was glad to have the evening free to decompress, and she was especially glad tomorrow was Friday. As she walked home from the station, she daydreamed of what she would do with a whole weekend spent in her adopted city. 

Christina
had been in New York City for a grand total of six months.  A transplant from Wisconsin, she had decided in her last year of college as a fashion design major that if she was going to have any chance of success, she would need to aim higher than her friends, who mostly planned to return to their small towns after graduation.  When she asked her classmates and fellow graduates, most of them from Wisconsin like her self, almost to a person they talked happily of returning to start a life that in many ways would resemble that of their parents. 

Though her own family had begged her to come back to her home town to settle, she reasoned with them that she couldn't very well begin a successful career in fashion in her small town of Elwood, population just under 5,000. But even more than that, the honest truth was that Christina was chomping at the bit for something
more.
  More than the small-town life she had known. More than her mostly happy college career in a larger city in the eastern part of the state.  More than the small-town college boys she had dated and with whom she had had her first sexual experiences.  She had an indescribable feeling of yearning deep inside her.  She didn't know quite what she wanted, but her thirst for something more was becoming so all-consuming that she if she didn't choose to address it, she would be risking her well-being in a fundamental way.

Without much sense of how to begin or what to expect, Christina packed up what few belongings she considered essential and moved by herself to New York City three weeks after graduation, much to the chagrin of her parents
.  Though this was a brash move, she had two things in her favor.  First, she had been quite frugal in college, managing to supplement the generous scholarship money that paid the bulk of her education with money from part-time jobs that he held throughout college, including summer and winter breaks.  She had managed to graduate completely debt-free and even leave untouched the several thousand dollars' inheritance that her maternal grandmother had left her the winter before. 

Second, she had a family friend who lived in a suburb of the city.  "Aunt Patricia" was in fact not a blood relative, but a high-school friend of her mother's who "made good" and had married a successful author and college professor at NYU.  Aunt Patricia had always been very fond of Christina, and had graciously offered to let her stay in their spare room as long as necessary.  Thus Christina, though certainly not well-off, had the means to stay for several months in New York in order to begin the process of establishing
herself in the fashion world.

Upon
arriving in NYC, Christina applied right away at a staffing agency and was successful in getting a string of short-term gigs that allowed her to gain some office experience and also to pay Aunt Patricia and her husband Tom some rent despite their protests. Christina was lucky in that she interviewed well.  She exuded a confidence that she often didn't feel, but instinctively seemed to know how to project.  With her honey-blond hair, blue eyes, and golden skin, she was the perfect image of a corn-fed Midwestern girl, but she saved herself from being a complete cliché by having a good sense of style and an innate knowledge of what did and did not look good on her.  Her slightly voluptuous proportions, particularly her generous hips, gave her an hourglass figure that seemed to her to be less stylish than the rail-thin fashionistas she passed on the streets every day, but she knew that she looked better healthy than she did skinny. 

Christina
both loved New York and felt self-conscious sometimes of what she perceived as her lack of sophistication.  She was often afraid her Midwestern innocence would be seen as a liability, and tried to hide it when she thought she was capable of doing so.  She longed to gain the elegance and urbanity of her east-coast peers, and was determinedly seeking a long-term job that would help her develop her poise and put her solidly on the first rung of a corporate career in the fashion industry. 

Her drive to succeed did not leave her much time for a social life, much less a sexual one.  Christina had been on only one date since her arrival to New York -- a young commodities broker who, like her, was a transplant -- but the experience had been so underwhelming that she decided for the time being to put her romantic desires on hold.  Luckily, one of her roommates in college, Lexi, had been very open and cas
ual about women's sexual fulfilment and had introduced Christina to the world of vibrators, so she was more than able to take care of her most basic needs at home. So far, her experience with the opposite sex had been somewhat disappointing.  She craved the touch of a man -- a
real
man, not the boys she had dated back in college.  Someone who could make her skin sing, make her cry out in pleasure. 

That night, lying in bed, she imagined she was in the arms of a hot, mysterious stranger, touching her wet center with his fingers as she moaned, licking her breasts, making her cry out and beg him to enter her.  Christina’s fingers caressed her own hardened nipples as she imagined the man’s tongue flicking back and forth. She stifled a moan as she ran the pulsing vibrator across her swollen nub and into her wet hole, stroking herself with it as she imagined the man stroking her with his throbbing cock, before plunging it inside her.  Her mouth opened and closed involuntarily as she arched her back and pushed her hips up to meet the thrusts of her mystery man.  She shuddered, coming quickly and intensely, and slid the slick vibrator-cock over and over against her pussy, drawing her orgasm out until she was exhausted.  Sighing, she felt her heart rate begin to slow after a few moments, and drifted off to sleep, her hand still between her thighs.

The next day, j
ust as Christina was leaving her current job for the weekend, her staffing agent, Courtney, called.  She had an opening for a personal assistant to the CEO of a Zuppan, a high fashion firm that had rocketed into the spotlight a few years ago.  Christina remembered drooling over their lines in fashion magazines as a high school student.  "It's a long shot, frankly; generally speaking, they should want someone with more experience," Courtney said.  "But you do have experience from the temp jobs you've already held, you have the educational background, and frankly, it will be good experience for you to start interviewing for more high-powered positions like this one." 

Chri
stina was terrified, but she eagerly accepted the interview nonetheless. She and Courtney talked for a few more minutes, during which they agreed that Christina would come in on Tuesday morning to have Courtney help her prepare for the interview, which would be on the following Thursday.  Courtney said it was somewhat likely that Christina wouldn't even meet the CEO during an initial interview. "I'm sure he will have someone under him do the interviewing, at least at first.  So you have to prepare to impress the person at the ground level and do everything you can to get to the next stage." The CEO's name was Devon Mulrooney, and from what Courtney said, he had the reputation of being sharply intelligent and quite intense.  "You'll need to be efficient, quick acting, and probably thick-skinned," Courtney said. "He sounds like someone who could eat you alive if he felt like it."

On the train home that afternoon, Christina contemplated everything she had been told about the position and the CEO.  She was more than a little nervous, but she sternly talked herself out of it.  "Life experience, Chris.  It's all life experience."  She smiled: she sounded like her dad.  Well, he was right.  She could do this.  She would not let herself be intimidated. 

Over the weekend, she made sure to do some research on Zuppan, so that she could be prepared for her meeting with Courtney.  She also looked up everything she could find on Devon Mulrooney.  Strangely, it was almost impossible to find any images of him.  The few that showed up during her searches seemed to be other people with that name, not the C.E.O.  She did learn, however, that he was not married, had no children, was 47 years old, had grown up in New York and London.  The words "determined" and "visionary" often showed up in reference to him, and "intense" appeared more than once.  Christina wondered idly about his private life; what did a man who seemed so driven and focused on his career do for pleasure? What would he be like when he was off the clock? Was he ever off the clock?  Christina shook herself out of her reverie.  She was here to prepare for this interview, not to imagine what this highly successful man did on his own time. 

On Tuesday morning, Christina took the train into the city to her meeting with Courtney.  Her appointment was for 11:00, so the morning rush was mostly over, and the train, though not empty, was mostly quiet, with commuters reading or listening to their MP3 players and looking out the window.  Christina was wearing a light, cream-colored silk shirt that set off her early-summer tan and her honey-blond hair.  Sitting in the train car reviewing her notes, she began to have a strange sensation, as though someone was watching her.  She glanced up, and seated about fifteen feet away from her was a man in a suit, who seemed to be appraising her.  Thick, dark hair, steely blue eyes, and masculine build, in a clearly expensive suit that fit him to perfection.  As her eyes met his, he leaned back lazily in his seat, clearly enjoying the view. Unapologetically, he appreciatively scanned her form, stopping for a moment at the curve of her breasts, then raised his gaze to her face.  He looked her straight in the eyes, blinked once slowly, and then let his mouth curve upward in a knowing, slightly sardonic smile.  Christina felt the heat rush to her face as she glanced down, embarrassed.  Suddenly, she said to herself,
Why should I allow him to make me feel uncomfortable?
She raised her eyes back up defiantly and returned his gaze, though she felt her face reddening even more.  The man raised his eyes momentarily in surprise, and then his smile widened almost imperceptibly.  Christina's breath began to quicken as her body responded on its own.  She could feel the moistness between her legs, and her skin felt as though it was preparing itself for his touch, as though the nerve endings were reaching out for him.  Her lips parted slightly, breath coming faster now, and then abruptly, Christina tore her gaze away from him.  He was completely unravelling her, and she didn't need that right now.  She gathered her things, stood up, and moved to the end of the car toward the bathrooms. 

Inside the large, clean bathroom of the suburban train, Christina closed the door and took a few deep breaths.  She looked in the mirror at her flushed face. 
What was that?
she asked herself.  This man had managed to make her body respond in ways that no boy ever had, and this without even touching her.  Christina took a moment to compose herself, drank some water from the bottle in her briefcase, reapplied her lipstick, and was brushing her hair when suddenly, the door to the bathroom opened and in stepped the man in the suit.  Startled, with her back to him, she met his gaze in the mirror.  Already, she could smell his masculine scent, with a slight hint of an expensive and intoxicating cologne.  Her back to him, she began to turn around, but he stopped her, pressing against her while still holding her gaze in the mirror.  He brought his lips down slowly to her bare neck, his breath caressing her skin, and she felt her own breathing catch.  Her lips parted  as his mouth gently grazed her neck and he slowly kissed his way to the sensitive spot right behind her ear.  His hands went to her waist as he pulled her to him, and she could feel his hardness as she began to throb between her legs.  Her breath was coming in short gasps now as he kissed her neck, and she involuntarily pressed against him and tried again to face him.  "No," he whispered, and continued his kisses against her jawline as his hands moved upward from her waist to her breasts.  He undid the first button of her blouse and expertly slid his hand under the fabric, under her bra, to cup her bare breast.  She gasped as his fingers found her nipple.  He gently began teasing her, and she grasped the sink counter as she pushed back against him even more and began to moan, throwing her head back in her need.  He sucked her earlobe and continued to tease her nipple until Christina thought that she might orgasm just from this.  "Please," she begged him in a whisper as she struggled again to turn around, "Please..."

His only answer was to hold her there, unbuttoning the remaining buttons of her blouse so that he could cup her other breast, teasing it in turn, and then slowly trace his other hand down her thigh and under her skirt.  He murmured approval at finding her wearing only thigh high stockings and a thong, which he deftly moved to the side and found the throbbing nub that was crying out to be touched.  Christina gasped as he found her, and without any conscious thought strained toward his hand in her need.  He pressed his hardened length against her as he caressed her nub slowly, his hips moving against her.  Slowly and then faster they rocked as he pleasured her. Eventually, his fingers plunged deep inside her, finding her hot wetness, and she moaned and writhed against them, aching for more.  He continued to caress and pinch first one nipple and then the other as he stroked her nub in small circles, his own breath coming in shallow gasps as he brought her closer and closer.  Soon, she could not hold out any longer and cried out, bucking and writhing against his hand, shuddering as wave after wave crashed over her.  She continued to ride his hand, slowing little by little until finally, spent, she quieted, her head leaning back against his chest, her breathing ragged but slowing, her eyes closed in an expression of bliss.