Girl Meets Billionaire

by Aubrey, Brenna

  “That’s not why.”

  “Oh. Why then?” I ask.

  He sighs a little. “Have you ever heard people say they want a view of this or that? The river, the lake, the beach, the mountains, the city. And if you ask them why—why do you want a view of the river?—they say things like… ‘I want to see the boats.’ Or the rowers. I don’t mind people who want to see the boats, or the sunset, or the snow, or any of the other natural things one might like in a view. But the rowers always bothered me.”

  “I’m not following,” I say. He’s veered off onto some other road and it’s not going anywhere I’m familiar with.

  “Because the rowers are people just living their lives. And to that person standing up in the penthouse condo looking down on the river, the rowers are scenery. I never liked the thought that people are scenery. So I prefer the cows to the cars. I don’t want to see the lights of the apartment across from me flicking on and off. I don’t want to know about what that means to the people inside. I don’t want to view them as scenery.”

  “Where do you live?” I ask him.

  “You know that Occulus Building over by the resort?”

  “Oh,” I say. “Wow.”

  “Yes, it’s just as pretentious as you think. Penthouse, roof garden, indoor pool, private gym, and a twenty-four seven concierge desk.”

  “Yeah.” I laugh, trying to picture it. “I remember when the Occulus Building was built. Huge party. I was invited, of course. I know the builder. She’s been interviewed over here millions of times. I go to her every time I need to schedule someone for real estate, or building, or architecture.”

  “Did you see the penthouse?”

  “Yeah. It’s quite nice.”

  “Yeah. Rich people problems, right?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well,” Mac says, tearing his gaze away from the view to look me in the eyes, “I hate it. But there’s probably a billion people who would kill to live there.”

  “It’s… not to your liking? The decor? Who owns it?”

  “We own it,” Mac says. “We own not only the whole building, but that whole resort.”

  “Oh.” I chew on that for a second.

  “We own most of the land in the Tech Center. My father bought up the land thirty years ago before any of this was here. And we lease it out.”

  Jesus. What kind of money is that? I can’t even begin to understand it.

  “Anyway,” Mac says, standing. “I’m waiting in here for a reason.”

  “Is that right?” I stand up too, but my heart beats a little faster when I take him in. He’s wearing a dark gray suit today, a blue shirt that is so light it’s barely a color, and another brilliant cerulean-blue tie that makes his matching eyes shine as they stare into mine.

  I don’t know why, but I step backwards. His full attention on me suddenly feels more like a force than a look. He steps forward, hands reaching for me. I bump against the wall, no escape, and then he fists the front of my blouse and rips it open, revealing my silk cami.

  My mouth opens in surprise.

  He rips the cami apart too. And then, with one forceful whoosh, both garments are lying in a puddle of fabric on the floor.

  “What are you doing?” I yell.

  The intense stare turns to a boyish smile. “I’d like you topless for breakfast. And I get to call the shots for our dates.”

  “Why do I even bother with you? Just why?” I refuse to cross my arms and cover my tits. Fuck him. Just fuck him. “Every time I start to think you’re not a pig, you go and do something like this.”

  “It’s fun, right?” His smile never cracks.

  “No,” I say. “It’s humiliating.”

  “Your tits are nice, Ellie. You should not be ashamed of them.”

  “I’m not ashamed of them—”

  “Good. Because I’d like to stare at them while we have coffee and discuss our date tonight.”

  A knock comes from Mac’s office and I might have a panic attack that someone will come in and find me bare like this.

  “Hold that thought,” Mac says, leaning down to kiss my lips. “Breakfast is here. Sit,” he says, pushing on my shoulders until I slump into the window seat again. “I’ll be right back.”

  And then he enters his office, pulling our connecting door closed.

  I listen to the conversation in there as I look down at my clothes. What the hell was he thinking? The cami is dust. Ripped straight down the middle. At least the silk button-up shirt is only missing all the buttons. I can probably tie it around my waist to make it out to the parking lot, but—

  There’s a jingle of a cart and plates. We have… room service? What kind of company has room service?

  I guess I’m not all that surprised they have it up here. We have several restaurants on campus. The Atrium has a cafeteria. Maybe this came from the cafeteria?

  Mac is laughing on the other side of the door, then I hear a polite thank you just before the sound of a closing door.

  The connecting door swings open again and Mac is there, a wide grin on his face. “I hope you like pancakes.”

  “This is not happening.”

  “Oh, this is happening, Miss Hatcher. You are sitting here.” He points to the middle of the window seat as he pushes the cart towards me.

  “I have no clothes, Mac. You ripped my cami. I’m going to have to tie that over-shirt on and go home to change. In fact,” I say, reaching down to get my blouse and pull myself together, “I’m not coming back. I’m done. Just when I think you’re a human, you act like an ape.”

  “Would you just relax, Ellie?” He rips the shirt from my hands, balls it up, and then tosses it in the air, where it arcs perfectly and sails into the new trashcan that matches the desk. “Three points,” he says.

  “It’s like you live in your own world or something. I think it’s funny that you accused me of living in some delusional fantasy, but you, Mr. Stonewall, you’re a raving lunatic who thinks the world is his asylum.”

  “I’m going to take that as a compliment. Now sit. I’ve got it all under control.”

  “My clothes!” I yell.

  “Under control, Ellie.”

  “How?”

  “Trust me.” His tone loses the childlike fun and becomes very serious. “I’ve got it handled.” His blue eyes blaze into mine and hold the stare for several seconds.

  I give up first, sighing and scowling at the same time. But I do as I’m told and take a seat in the center of the window as he pushes an elaborate dining cart up to me.

  Because no matter how atrocious his behavior, I’m so damn curious about this man. What kind of life must he have to take everything for granted?

  “Good,” he says, arranging things on the cart. “You’re starting to come to your senses.”

  I roll my eyes, but save my indignation for later. It’s just no use. He’s a man who gets his way and this morning he wants me to sit in the window seat of my office topless as he serves me food.

  “It’s fun, right?” Mac asks, winking at me as he unwraps the silverware, shakes out the white linen napkin, and places it on my lap.

  I don’t answer. It is a little bit fun, but I don’t agree or even smile, because he doesn’t deserve to be rewarded for being a caveman.

  There are two large silver-domed plates, a carafe of coffee, two smaller silver-domed plates, and a clear crystal bowl of water with pink and white roses floating on top.

  Well. He certainly knows how to make things pretty. “Why?” I ask.

  He lifts the silver domes on the plates and hides them on one of the shelves underneath the cart. “I hope you like pancakes. But if not, I got French toast. We can share.”

  “Why are you like this?” I ask, my mouth watering as I look at the pile of fresh berries on top of my pancakes. And his French toast is an inch thick and has perfectly crispy edges.

  “Like what?” he asks, opening up his silverware and flapping his napkin in his lap as he sits. “Fun
? Creative? Romantic? Which of those things bothers you, Ellie?”

  “It’s not that,” I say. “You know why I’m bothered.” I point to my perky tits.

  “Yeah, they’re beautiful. I’m never going to forget this breakfast. And isn’t that the point? Isn’t every experience we have a memory in the making? Why not make them special?”

  He pours us each a coffee, then hands me the cream and sugar. I do want what’s on this table. I want these berry-covered pancakes. And the coffee smells delicious. I’m probably going to help myself to that French toast too.

  “It can be special without being naked,” I say as I cut my pancakes with my fork and shove it in my mouth.

  “Oh.” Mac laughs. “The special part comes later. When I push you face-first up against this window, squishing your tits against the cold glass as I pull your trousers down and finger your pussy until you come. That’s the part you won’t forget, Ellie. You’ll never remember how this food tasted. Good, or sweet, or whatever will be the only takeaway from that. But the morning your boss finger-fucked you up against your office window? Now that is a memory you’ll be masturbating to for years.”

  Oh, my God. I’m in way over my head. He’s way too much for me.

  “And then I’m going to stick my fingers in your mouth while they are still slick with your pleasure, and jerk off as I stare into your face and come on your tits. That’s why I want you topless. So I can eat and imagine all that fun that’s coming our way. All those memories we’ll be making in about ten minutes.”

  I think I actually cream myself. I’m not even sure where that expression comes from. I’ve never used it before in my life, but there it is in the front of my mind. And it’s happening. And it fits. Because I’m wet. I’m wet from his words.

  So he wins, doesn’t he? Because while I should be worried about treating my boss to a topless breakfast, all I can think about is his fingers inside me. His hot breath on my shoulder as he plays with my clit until I come.

  Mac laughs. “Ellie, come on. You’re not that uptight, are you?”

  I take a deep breath and exhale.

  He leans over with a forkful of French toast and puts it to my lips. I open my mouth and he slips the food inside, his smile more like a man who is in the middle of lust than one who is thinking about breakfast.

  His other hand is busy beneath the table cloth. I hear the jingle of a belt, then he closes his eyes and starts pumping.

  He’s jerking off.

  I am stunned silent.

  “Play with yourself, Ellie. While you eat.” His eyes open and he cuts himself a portion of French toast, puts it in his mouth as I stare at his lips, and chews slowly. “Please,” he whispers softly.

  Please. Hmmm. That catches me off guard. And what the hell. I’m here, already topless. Already participating. Why not just… embrace it.

  I swallow hard and begin massaging my nipple with my left hand, the right hand busy cutting up pancakes.

  I never stop looking at him.

  He smiles and nods. “See.”

  I do see.

  I am definitely in way over my head with McAllister Stonewall.

  But even if I wanted to, there’s no way I’m not going along for the ride now.

  I’m in.

  Chapter Seventeen

  MAC

  It takes every ounce of strength I have not to throw this fucking cart aside and bend her over. I want to fuck her like crazy. And I know there is no fucking in my future if I can’t get past her rules and regulations.

  I need to play this right. Every moment counts with Ellie Hatcher.

  “See,” I say. “It’s fun. You like fun, don’t you, Ellie? You’re not really a fun-sucker, are you?” I even wink at her.

  She sighs and my gaze is locked on her lips. Fuck. The things I want to do to her lips. “I do like fun, Mac. But I like fun that doesn’t end up hurting me and you… you’re so… perfect. It’s a bad sign.”

  “A bad sign?” I ask. “Since when is perfect bad?”

  “Well, nobody’s perfect. So it’s an illusion.”

  “I never said I was perfect, Ellie.”

  “Yeah, but you have it all. You’re rich, you’re very… handsome. And you have a lot of power.”

  “You’re not hurting for money, Ellie. I know what you make and it’s a very comfortable living. And you’re far prettier than I am handsome.”

  “Nice save.” She laughs.

  “Seriously. You have this girl-next-door thing going for you that drives guys like me wild.”

  “Guys like what?” she asks. “What kind of guy are you, McAllister Stonewall? Because I looked you up online and you barely exist. I think that’s suspicious.”

  “So, not perfect, right?” Not at all perfect. She just doesn’t know how imperfect I am yet.

  “No, of course not. I understand there’s no such thing as perfection. I’m just saying you come off as perfect, which means it’s a lie.”

  “Keep talking,” I say. “And keep touching yourself as you do it.”

  She rolls her eyes and lowers her hand. “I feel ridiculous.”

  “Why? You don’t want to turn me on?”

  She smiles big as she closes her eyes and throws her head back, exposing her throat for me. Damn, I might not be able to make it through breakfast. “Do I turn you on, Mr. Stonewall?”

  “Miss Hatcher, I cannot stop thinking about you. Ever since I started reading those texts I’ve become obsessed.”

  I stand up and push the cart aside. Ellie starts, then straightens her back and stares up into my eyes. She looks… fuck. Perfect. She’s the one who’s perfect, not me. I step forward and she leans back against the window.

  “Let’s skip the food. We can give that another try later. But now, I just want to touch you. Watch your face as I make you feel good.” She can’t take her eyes off me as I fist my cock and start pumping again. “Get on your knees and turn around. Face the window.”

  She chews on her lip like she’s thinking this over. But we both know she’s going to do it. There’s no way she’d be having breakfast topless if she wasn’t in.

  “Do it,” I say, just to make her stop thinking about it.

  She swallows hard and stands up. I palm her breast for a second before she turns, then kneels down on the window seat with her back to me.

  “Place your hands on the window.”

  She does, her palms slightly above her head. And then she leans forward and rests her forehead on the glass, like she needs the support. I trace a fingertip down her spine until her back buckles and I take that moment of distraction to push her head forward, applying enough pressure so that she has to turn her cheek sideways.

  I don’t ease up even though I can see her eyes searching for mine. I’m probably just outside her field of vision though, so she can’t see much.

  I reach around to unbutton her trousers, and then I slip my hand down her stomach until I’m cupping her pussy.

  “Jesus, Mac.”

  “What?” I ask in a throaty voice. “Tell me.”

  “I’m just… I just don’t know why I’m doing this.”

  “Because it feels good, Ellie. You like it. It’s just fun. Why are you so worried about having fun and enjoying yourself?” I trace a little circle around her clit, pushing my fingertip inside her wet opening and then quickly withdrawing. “Tell me what you like.”

  She exhales loudly and shakes her head.

  “Why?”

  “I’m not that kind of girl, Mac. I’m not the kind of girl who fucks her boss, or talks dirty, or any of that.”

  “That’s what makes it so desirable for me. I like to push you outside your comfort zone. Now tell me what you like and I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever you say. I just want to hear it.”

  She’s silent for a few moments, but I don’t push because she didn’t say no. So she’s thinking. I can definitely be patient for this.

  I wiggle my fingertip against her clit and she says, “That.”
<
br />   “What? Say it.”

  “Your finger sweeping around my clit, but never touching it.”

  “It makes you want more?”

  “Yes, it does,” she breathes.

  “More what? Talk to me like a dirty slut, Ellie, and I’ll make you come so hard, your legs will spasm and your body will collapse.”

  I wait for the snarky comeback, but she stays silent. Not willing to stop me. Not willing to break the flow of what we’re doing. Not ready to give in, but definitely not giving up.

  “I like when you… I like it when you flick right there.”

  Right there is not her clit, but it’s close. “So you like the tease. I like the tease too. If I was the one who was going to come right now I’d be telling you to suck the tip of my dick, but not put my whole cock in your mouth. Just play with it for a little bit. Make me want more.”

  “I want you to press your fingers inside me. Just a little. Then take them out and tease me some more. I want you to squeeze my breasts and bend me over. I want to imagine you staring at my pussy like that.”

  I wrap my hand around her throat, pulling her back towards me. I hold her up by placing my arm under hers, then, once she’s on her feet, I turn us both around and walk her over to her desk and bend her over.

  Her wide-legged pants are down around her ankles so her ass is perfectly positioned for me to stick my cock inside her.

  I don’t, of course. She’s going to regret this five-date minimum thing. I’m going to make sure of it.

  “Mac,” she says in a low whisper. “Put your fingers in me.”

  “I’ll do you one better,” I say, crouching down and spreading her ass cheeks apart so I can slip my tongue between her legs. Her upper body shoots up, so I smack her once, hard, and say, “Relax, Miss Hatcher. Enjoy. I know I am.”

  I lick her, and then I hoist her up and push her onto the desk, her palms flat on the tabletop, her knees spread wide, her face red with heat and desire. I lick her pussy. Up and down the entire length of her folds. Then I stand and thrust two fingers inside her as my thumb pushes against the puckered bud of her ass.

  She wiggles, but I push down on her back. “Stay still,” I say, as I pump her hard. She moans and wriggles more, so I withdraw my fingers and slide them rapidly up and down the entire length of her pussy.