Sexy and Funny, Hilarious Erotic Romance Bundle

by Mimi Strong

  I wiggled my butt and imagined one of those big, thick-fingered hands I'd seen on Mr. Thorne, smacking my bottom.

  The thought gave me a tingle. The more I thought about the tickling, tingling sensation around my openings, the greater the sensation got. I arched my back, pushing my butt higher into the air. The tingling moved down, circling around my folds and nub, pulsating now with every heartbeat.

  Again?

  I'd just gotten off the day before. When I was a teen, I was a once-or-twice-a-day kinda gal, but until recently, I'd been working up an orgasm maybe every two days, going the occasional dry spell for a week.

  The room could wait, I decided. And besides, I was nearly finished.

  I dragged myself off table and draped my body across the two-seater sofa. My skirt slid up easily, and I threw one leg over the back of the sofa.

  I gazed up at the ceiling, at the mirror. I'd moved the bed away from the mirror, yes, but now the sofa was directly underneath the reflective surface, and there was the girl, red-cheeked with sexual excitement and staring down at me.

  I ran one finger down the front of my body, giving myself a shiver that I not only felt, but saw, in the mirror. No wonder men were so obsessed with mirrors and visuals! For a moment, I understood their perspective just a bit better.

  My blouse practically unbuttoned itself, and I took a good look at my breasts, cupped in the bright pink bra.

  Had I locked the door?

  Oh, who cares, I thought, running my hands over my pink panties. I could have slipped them off, revealing even more pink to the mirror above me, but I felt strangely shy, so I kept them on and stuck my hand inside, which felt naughtier anyway.

  No sooner had I got my fingers where they wanted to go, as I realized I was being watched. Someone was at one of the windows.

  He didn't know I saw him, because he didn't move away, but I closed my eyelids nearly all the way and turned my head slowly to get a better look.

  It was the man in the hat, the sexy gardener who'd let me in. He must have been up on a ladder, perhaps using the excuse of cleaning leaves, or washing windows.

  Let him watch, I thought, and the naughtiness of it all gave me a shiver that nearly sent me over the edge way sooner than I wanted.

  So he stayed there, watching, and I arched my back and writhed around on the sofa, giving him the show of his life. He didn't move. Why wasn't he doing anything? He should have come to his senses and climbed back down, or something.

  I rubbed harder with my fingers, but the area was going numb, because my mind was distracted.

  I was annoyed. Who did he think he was? Standing out there on his ladder, getting a free show, and worst of all, not helping me in any way.

  Nothing was happening in my downstairs zone, so I stopped and rolled onto my side with a sigh. Tomorrow was another day, and, besides, I still had work to do in the room, including moving a few of the paintings.

  I stared at the garden painting, wondering what it might be worth.

  Someone tapped on the window. Gently at first, then with more conviction.

  The gardener. I'd almost forgotten about him. He waved when I looked over at him.

  I stood, pulled my skirt down, and walked over to the window, my blouse still open.

  The darn window had a complicated latch, and the gardener was pointing at the latch and laughing at me when I got the thing open.

  “Thanks for nothing,” I said to him. “Don't you know spying on someone like this is a crime?”

  He looked down at his feet, on the ladder. “You going to sue me?”

  “No, but I should have you fired.” I should have been angry at him, but he had such a nice face, and those hungry eyes.

  “Please don't have me fired,” he said, a glint in his eye. “I'll do anything to make it up to you. Anything.”

  My pink zones lit up like Christmas tree ornaments. “Anything?”

  “Anything,” he said.

  “Go trim some hedges,” I said angrily, closing the window. “And stop peeping.”

  With the window shut, we stared at each other through the glass.

  As he was watching, I ran both hands over my breasts and torso. I was still wearing my unbuttoned blouse, and I let it drop to the floor, so he could see my pink bra and more of my skin.

  He nodded at me to continue.

  The sun behind him was bright, and his face was in shadows, but I could still sense the fire in his eyes.

  I reached behind me and unlatched my lacy pink bra, letting it fall to the floor with my blouse. I had already slipped off my shoes earlier, when I was moving the furniture, and now the expensive creamy sisal carpet felt sensual under my bare soles.

  My nipples stood at attention, the bright pink raspberries pointing right at the gardener, reaching out for him.

  In response, he shifted one hand slowly to arrange his package, beneath his jeans. Funny, his jeans looked like a designer pair, not the grubby type you'd expect to see on a gardener.

  I'd had an idea about who he was, but it wasn't until I walked up to the window and pressed my body against the glass that my conscious mind became aware of what my subconscious, animal mind already knew.

  I pointed and gestured for him to show me what was in his jeans, and he did. One thick-fingered hand unbuttoned and released his manhood. I knew that cock. I'd know it anywhere. It was the same one I'd hungered after the day before, while I was hiding under the desk, breathing my hot breath in its direction as I'd desperately rubbed myself into my palm.

  He pressed it against the glass, and then pulled back again, looking sheepish.

  “What?” I said.

  He mouthed the words and I heard him, albeit faintly, through the pane that separated us, “That glass is hot,” he said, grinning.

  I licked my lips. “Want me to kiss it better?”

  He made a pouty face and nodded.

  I unlatched the window again.

  “May I come in?” he said. A good portion of him was already inside the room, pointing at my upper body.

  I grabbed him by his sturdy handle without even thinking about it, tugging at him tenderly. “Let me help you.”

  He groaned and closed his eyes, gripping the edge of the window frame with both hands. “That feels good.”

  I used my other hand to give his base and balls some feathery strokes as I tugged gently with the other hand. “I'll kiss it better if you wanna come inside.”

  He gripped the window frame tighter. “I shouldn't. I shouldn't enter the house. I'm not allowed.”

  “Really?” Were we still playing this little game, pretending that he was the gardener? I looked at his face, at his half-closed eyes and the pained, hungry expression on his mouth. “You're the gardener,” I said, stressing the word gardener. “You're dirty, so maybe you should stay out there, on your ladder. If you come inside, you'll probably make a big mess all over Mr. Thorne's nice carpet.”

  At the mention of Mr. Thorne, his equipment throbbed in my hand.

  “I promise I'll be good,” he said.

  “Maybe you should stay out there,” I said. “Where you belong. Not in here, on Mr. Thorne's nice Egyptian Cotton sheets.” He thrust his hips at me, his member pulsing back and forth in my hand, slick with the sweat from my excited palms. I paused for a moment and licked my hand, then returned it.

  His hands were still gripping the window frame, his knuckles turning white. “This is dangerous,” he said.

  “I'll say.” I paused my handwork and removed my skirt. I took two steps back and buried one hand inside my pink panties, the other one near my mouth, so I could suck my thumb. “Too bad you can't come into Mr. Thorne's nice bedroom.”

  He removed his hat and threw it far, into the room.

  “Oops, I dropped my hat.”

  I slipped out of my panties and tossed them on the pristine bed.

  “You'll have to come in and get it,” I said.

  He fixed me with his fiery gaze. “You won't tattle on me? You
won't tell… Grace?”

  “I can keep a secret,” I said. “Can you?”

  He pulled back from the window for a moment, and I feared he'd changed his mind, but he was just securing the ladder. He stepped into the room, and then, there he was.

  We were in the same room together, and I was completely, utterly naked.

  Nobody but Grace and Suzanne even knew I was there.

  The man was taller than I'd thought. Even though I'd seen his clothes—assuming the man before me was indeed Mr. Thorne—he was so much bigger-than-life in person. I guessed that was what it took to be a billionaire. Or maybe the billions were what made you so big, so present.

  Half of my mind believed he was the gardener, though. And I wanted him. Gardener or billionaire, I wanted him to take me for his own.

  He crossed the room slowly and retrieved the hat.

  I walked toward him, then changed direction, moving over to the bed.

  He glanced up at the ceiling, at the mirror, and pointed to the sofa, which was now positioned under the mirror.

  I moved over to the sofa and leaned back, presenting him with my pussy.

  Remembering what he'd said on the phone sex line the day before, I said, “I'm spreading my legs for you. I'm begging you for your tip. Please, can I have it? I need it.”

  He raised his eyebrows and coughed in surprise.

  Honestly, I was probably more surprised than he was. I'd had boyfriends try to get me to talk dirty to them, but I always got embarrassed. It seemed silly with those boys. But there, under that mirror, the words just flowed from my mouth. My folds were slick with desire for him, and when I went on, whimpering with begging sounds, I meant it. I completely, utterly meant every whimper.

  The furniture I lay back on was a bit short for such purposes, but I didn't care about comfort. I just wanted him inside me, pumping me. I would have taken his manhood in the back seat of a Volkswagen Beetle. I would have taken it in a phone booth. After the build-up over the previous two days, first hearing him from inside the closet, and then seeing him but being unable to touch him, in his office, I desperately needed satisfaction. And I needed it from him.

  He pulled off his thin T-shirt, revealing a body way more toned than you'd expect on a business man. He must have taken conference calls on the treadmill, I figured. Or maybe he had a personal trainer. I hope it's not a woman, I thought jealously.

  He dropped the pants, kicked off his shoes, and removed his socks.

  He didn't climb on top of me on the sofa, like I was aching for him to, but he walked over and sat on his knees on the plush carpet next to me, leaning in for a kiss.

  Of course! We were both completely naked, ready to be intimate, and yet, we hadn't even kissed yet.

  I reached out for him with my arms and pulled him to me as we kissed, deeply. His lips sucked at my lips, and his tongue caressed me without intruding. I imagined that strong tongue on other parts and shuddered in anticipation.

  My clit was on fire with ecstasy, sparks shooting out everywhere from my mound, and I realized it was because his hand was there, stroking me. Softly, gently, and then with more urgency, thick fingers exploring and plunging in and out of me. Circling, maddeningly.

  I cried out in pleasure, into his mouth, with his lips still encompassing mine.

  His hand kept moving over my mound, back and forth through my soft, pink folds. I pulled my head back, interrupting his kiss, and also pushed his hand away from my crotch.

  “Careful,” I said, breathlessly. “I'm about to go off, and I want you inside me when I do.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked. “Because once I start, I don't stop.”

  I didn't know what he meant by that, but I nodded my head and whimpered.

  He glanced up at the mirror, then he forcefully shoved the small sofa, with me on it, three feet back.

  He stretched out on the carpet, on his back, and stared up at the mirror, then over at me.

  “Climb on board,” he said.

  I looked at the bed in the corner.

  “I'll give you rug burn,” I said, but even as I protested, I was making my way over to him.

  I straddled his chest and gave him another kiss, mouth to mouth, as my other moist parts kissed his chest and his abs, moving down as I lowered my hips toward his.

  He thrust his tongue deep into my mouth just as he grabbed my buttocks forcefully and pulled me down on his firm, eager shaft.

  I cried out in ecstasy and nearly climaxed immediately, but I tightened my abdominal muscles to pause myself, and stiffened my legs to slow my movement.

  My pause didn't last long, though, because his hands were firmly on me, and he was grinding me against his pelvic bone while moving me up and down on his equipment.

  His sex was thick and filling, and I bore down harder against him, wanting more, more, burying it to the hilt and further.

  Getting off this way, from strictly penetration, was not my usual way, but it was possible, if the man was big enough, and hard enough. Oh, and if he had strong arms that rocked me up and down with nearly no effort on my part.

  My back broke out in a sweat.

  I closed my eyes and enjoyed being worked like a machine in a factory, that throbbing member moving in and out of my slick mound like the world's greatest invention—the fuck machine.

  The fuck machine, I thought.

  I didn't even know his first name, but that's what he was.

  His breathing changed and his movements became less controlled, more frantic.

  I looked up to his face, to those hungry eyes, and saw his gaze was on the mirror above us.

  I turned my head and glanced up to see what he saw.

  My back, glistening with sweat and sparkling like diamonds.

  My buttocks, pulsing with every thrust as I met his movements.

  He cried out and closed his eyes, bucking underneath me.

  His orgasm went on and on, and mine matched his, both of us writhing and moaning in unison.

  I came and I came and I came some more.

  Finally, as the last aftershocks pulsed out in calming waves, I fell against him, my damp chest on his, my damp hair on his face.

  I slid my face down alongside his and gently nibbled his earlobe.

  His manhood inside me pulsed with one last tremor, and then he sighed.

  When the earth stopped moving, I rolled off him and fell to my side.

  He moved his arm so that his bicep was my pillow.

  He said, “What's your name?”

  I considered lying to him, but instead, I said, “Alexis. But everyone calls me Lexie.”

  “Lexie,” he said, nodding.

  “And your name is… ?”

  He reached out to shake my hand. “You can call me Lou. Short for Luthor.”

  “Lou,” I said. “I like that, Lou.”

  He shook my face from his arm and got up, looking around nervously. “I'd best get out of here before I get caught on Mr. Thorne's carpet, with Mr. Thorne's assistant.”

  I reached for his hand, to pull him back to me. “Oh, come on, Lou. Enough with the games.”

  He gave me a skeptical look. “What games? You needed help with something, and my job is to fix what needs fixing around the house. I'm just doing my job, ma'am.”

  “So, you're not Mr. Thorne?” I was so confused. “Wait, you are. Stop messing with my head. You certainly don't have a tan line around your neck from working outdoors.” I grabbed onto his hand. “And look. A manicure. Gardeners don't have manicures.”

  He gave me a sly look. “I wasn't always a gardener.”

  I scrambled to sit up and gave him a hard look. “Get out,” I said.

  He chuckled. “Boy, you get your needs filled, and you're not interested in small talk at all, are you?”

  “You're a peeping pervert, and you just took advantage of an innocent young woman.” I scowled at him and grabbed for my clothes. Whether he was Mr. Thorne or not, he was toying with me, and I didn't like it one bit.
>
  “Lexie, don't be a spoilsport,” he said as he pulled on the jeans. I realized I'd not seen any jeans like those in the walk-in closet.

  I said, “I'm just another conquest to you, aren't I? Just another big stakes business deal. Only I'm not a business deal. I have feelings and emotions, you know. I'm a person.”

  He raised his eyebrows and took a step back, both hands in the air.

  “I get it, I get it,” he said. “Oh, but I just remembered something.” He pointed to his penis, which was already hardening again, resisting his efforts to do up his jeans. “You said you'd kiss it better.”

  I crossed my arms. I could definitely go for round two, and getting angry at him had only worked up my passion.

  “Not until you tell me who you really are,” I said.

  He reached for my shoulder, but I pulled away. He said, “I think you know who I am, Lexie.”

  “Luthor Thorne,” I said. The name did seem familiar. It had been one of the names I'd been able to find on the computer two nights before.

  He took a little bow as he fastened his jeans over his bulge. “At your service. Grace has tried to keep women like you away from me, but I think we both outwitted her.”

  “Now what?”

  “Perhaps a shower,” he said, nodding at the door that led to the attached bathroom with the enormous walk-in shower and steam nozzles.

  “And then what?”

  “I have a few ideas. You're some sort of consultant, right?”

  “I'm a certified professional organizer.” It felt very odd to say this while standing naked in front of a man, my legs clutched together to keep his juices from getting on the luxurious sisal carpet.

  “I could use another professional on my staff,” he said.

  “As an organizer?”

  “Something like that,” he said.

  THE END of Borrowed Billionaire #1

  Want more of Lexie Ross and Luthor Thorne?

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