The Billionaire's Deal: The Complete Story: An Alpha Billionaire Romance

by Kaswell, Crystal

  Blake.

  The word flutters in my stomach.

  His tongue slides into my mouth, probing gently. Or maybe patient is the right world. He's hopelessly patient.

  His hands slide back down my sides. His grip gets a little harder. Every place he touches lights up with need. His hands, his mouth, his body—it all feels so damn good.

  I grab onto his shoulders, melting into him. The nerves fluttering around my stomach fade away. It doesn't matter that I've never done this before. I want to do it with him and now.

  His hand finds the outside of my panties. Right bellow my belly button first. Then lower, lower, lower. He strokes me. The silky fabric presses against my clit with a dizzying mix of smoothness and friction.

  Want pools inside me. This is too slow. Suddenly, I understand the concept of needing someone. I need Blake, and I need him now.

  But he's so damn patient as he strokes me. I arch my body into his hand, trying desperately to meet his touch, to press him harder against me.

  Pleasure fills my pelvis. There's no one spot. It's everywhere. I moan into his mouth, grab hard at his shaft. He moves with that same steady pace. Utterly in control.

  I release the kiss and stare into his eyes. They're heavy with desire. So I am affecting him, too. He lets out a breathy groan and grabs my hips hard.

  "Take those off." He tugs at my panties.

  I nod and slide them to my knees. Then to my feet.

  "You're nervous."

  I shake my head.

  "Don't lie." His fingertips skim my chin, tilting me so we're eye to eye.

  I try to verbalize the thoughts swirling through my brain. Nerves, yes, but I want this. I want this so badly it hurts.

  "Only a little," I say.

  "Do you remember what I said last time?"

  "You said a lot of things."

  "Not true." He smiles. Just barely.

  "A few things." I take a deep breath and study his expression in some hopes I'll figure him out. Nope. Not happening. "About the terms or about how if I want something, you'll give it to me? But last time, you sent me home before. I know I didn't ask, but you obviously knew."

  "Kat."

  I bring my gaze back to his. "Yeah?"

  "What do you want?"

  A shiver passes through me. "You. I want you. It's crazy. I don't know you at all, but you were right. This part feels like something real."

  He places his palm on my lower back. "You're a virgin."

  My cheeks flush. They must be bright red. It's certainly none of his business, but, still, I nod.

  A bit of spark leaves his eyes. "Turn around."

  "But, what does that matter? I want to do this now. I want you."

  "I know, gorgeous."

  Red again. It's wrong he can make me this nervous with a single word. "I don't want to wait."

  "Turn around."

  I do.

  "Hands on the mirror."

  I plant my hands on the mirror, shifting my torso forwards and my ass back and up like it's on display for him.

  He drags his fingertips down my back. "You're a very sexy girl."

  "Thank you."

  "But I'm not going to fuck you."

  I catch my reflection in the mirror. The pout to end all pouts. I rearrange it into something less bratty. "Why?"

  "Kat." He drags his fingertips over my ass.

  "What if I said your name like that." I adopt my most unaffected voice. "Blake. Blake. Blake."

  "Don't do that."

  "Blake, Blake, Blake."

  His nails dig into my skin. It's a tiny burst of pain, but it feels damn good.

  My shoulders relax. His touch gets softer. He drags his fingers over my ass, to my hips, my quads, my inner thighs.

  Yes. Almost.

  "You need to learn patience," he says.

  "You need to fuck me."

  "I'm the one in charge of this." His fingers inch up, up, up.

  "Out there, maybe. But not here. It's supposed to be the part that's real."

  His nails scrape against my skin. "This is real. Me in control of your pleasure, taking you to the brink of an orgasm then pushing you over the edge. That's real."

  I swallow hard. "But what if I don't want to be under your control? What if I want to be in control?"

  He runs his hands through my hair and pulls lightly. "There's only one way I'm going to fuck you, Kat, and that's if I'm in charge." His fingers slide over my neck. "If that isn't something you want, I'll let you get dressed."

  "But you already said you're not going to fuck me." I shift my body so I'm straight, dropping my arms to my sides.

  "Not right now." He tugs at my hair again. "But I will tonight. If that's what you want."

  My body goes into overdrive. It's pleading for mercy. For the love of all that is right, it's not fair for him to get me so keyed up then insist tonight. Tonight is a million years away.

  "I want now," I say.

  He presses his lips against my neck. His mouth hovers over my ear. "It's a yes or no question. Do you want me in control?"

  Desire passes through me. Yes. God, yes. I want everything about him. "Yes." I nod.

  "Come here," he says.

  I do. I press my naked body against his completely clothed body. The fabric is rougher than his skin, but it still feels good. I don't even care that I'm exposed. I don't care that he still has all the power.

  I drag my fingertips through his hair, pulling his lips into mine. He kisses hard this time. His tongue explores my mouth like it's something of his.

  I hook my leg around him, rubbing my body against his. I can feel something through his slacks. He's hard. That must be it.

  He's hard. Because of me. I shift against him so I can feel the firmness in his slacks. Something instinctive takes over in my body. I want that part of him. All of it. I want to touch him, taste him, and feel him inside me.

  Blake slings his hand under my knee, pulling our bodies closer, so his cock is pressing against my sex. Only the fabric of his slacks is in the way. Pity those slacks exist. They seemed so nice when I saw him this morning, but now I know the truth. They're evil.

  He brings his hand down on my ass, a tap at first. Barely hurts at all. I gasp and squeeze the fabric of his shirt.

  His lips hover over my ear. "Patience."

  "Or what?"

  "Or I'll stop."

  My breath catches in my throat. That's about the only thing I absolutely couldn't stand. I nod, a promise I'll do as he asks, here, there, anywhere.

  As long as he keeps touching me.

  "Now turn around. Hands on the mirror."

  I do it. Blake moves faster. He positions himself behind me, so his crotch is pressed up against me. His cock is hard against the flesh of my ass. Still those stupid slacks in the way.

  I arch my back, so it's closer, so it's hovering right over my sex.

  He shakes his head. Tsk tsk. His hands hover over my inner thighs. The look on his face is patient. Like he could wait a million years for me to do as he asks.

  A sigh escapes my lips. Half irritated, half desperate. My body is buzzing, shaking. He needs to touch me. Now. I've been his doll for the last three hours. I'm not going to spend the next twenty minutes, fifteen minutes, however long we have, being looked at.

  "Please," I say.

  Nothing.

  Fine. I press my palms into the mirror, undoing the arch in my back. His fingertips brush over my inner thighs. Barely. But it's enough to send a wave of pleasure straight to my sex.

  He strokes my thighs a little harder. A little higher. I press my eyes closed, taking in every touch, every breath.

  His fingers brush against my clit. Want surges through me. Yes. There. He brings one hand to my chest and toys with my nipples. My back arches, pressing my crotch against his hand. I sigh out all that irritation. There's nothing left inside me but a desperate need to come from his touch.

  Blake draws circles around my nipples with his fingertips.
He presses his palm into my breast to hold my body against his. His other hand works magic. His strokes are so light I can barely feel them. It seems impossible that something so subtle could send such dramatic waves of ecstasy through my body.

  His teeth sink into my neck. Just enough to hurt, but that hurt feels so damn good. I consider asking for more, for harder, but the pressure building inside me is already too much to take.

  A moan escapes my lips.

  He strokes me. Harder. Faster. Then it's perfect. Yes. I gasp louder than I mean to. He sinks his teeth into my neck. Harder. The pain shoots all the way to my sex, mixing with the pleasure spreading through my body.

  We're in a dressing room. I can't scream. I press my eyes closed and sink my teeth into my lip. He strokes me, faster, harder, more. An orgasm rises up inside me. Almost. Almost. Almost.

  He pinches my nipples. Another tiny burst of pain. It pushes me over the edge. All that pressure inside me unravels, spreading all the way to my fingers and toes.

  Yes. Hell yes. I blink my eyes open and my gaze fixes on the reflection in the mirror. Blake is staring at me, watching the pleasure spreading over my face.

  Suddenly, I feel shy. Exposed even. I release my grip on the mirror and turn so Blake and I are face to face. There's no explaining his expression. Satisfaction is the closest thing I can pin down.

  His fingertips slide over my chin. "Tonight." It's a promise.

  I nod. Tonight.

  Outside our stall, the main door opens. The tap, tap of high heels on the carpet.

  His eyes dart to his watch. "Just in time."

  Tonight can't come soon enough.

  ***

  The afternoon is set aside for hair and makeup. It's starts with a painful, full-body waxing. Eyebrows and everything below my chin. I've always kept pretty trim, and Blake certainly didn't raise any objections in the dressing room, but hairless is apparently part of the plan.

  Then we're on to the hair on my head. A stylist fusses over it, talking through me like I'm not here. He and Ashleigh debate specific shades and brands of dye. Honey, platinum, ash, sandy, baby, beige, beachy. It's blonde any way you can cut it.

  I've never paid much attention to my hair, but I still don't like it changing. It's easy this way. It's me. It's the same color as my mother's hair.

  They settle on a specific color. A lovely beige with golden highlights.

  It's only hair.

  It shouldn't matter.

  The stylist paints dye on my hair with a brush. He concentrates like he's working on a masterpiece. It must take half an hour.

  Dread filters through my brain while I wait. This is a bad idea. I can back out now, before it gets too deep, before I have to lie to many people.

  Tonight. Blake said tonight. No way I'm backing out before he makes good on that promise. He's still a mystery, but as far as I can tell, he's a man of his word.

  Tonight. It's such a beautiful word.

  Finally, the stylist washes my hair. He cuts off inches here and bits there, blow dries and curls until it's perfect. Then it's makeup. Dark and bold with big, fake lashes. There's an outfit waiting for me, hung on a door. That pink cocktail dress and a different pair of strappy sandals.

  I check my reflection in the mirror and all the air leaves my body. I don't recognize the girl looking back at me. I know it's me under the makeup, tight dress, and waves of honey-colored hair, but there's something off about it, too.

  We're lying to the world, but I'm not going to lie to myself. Blake can pile on all the gloss he wants, but I'm still Kat under here. I have to remember that.

  ***

  We have dinner at Lotus Blossom, the same restaurant that rejected my job application without a second glance. Blake makes a show of parading in front of the asshole manager who ignored me.

  The place is crowded—incredibly crowded—but we are instantly given a table right by the window. Gorgeous view of Fifth Avenue. It's dark out—the entire day lost to an exhausting makeover—and the city lights are in full effect. Yellow lights bleed into the brilliant royal blue sky.

  Blake slides his arm around my waist, holding me tightly. There's something protective about it. It's almost sweet. But it must be for show. That's the whole idea here. Our relationship is a ruse. Just for show.

  He pulls out my chair for me and pushes it in after me. A perfect gentleman on the outside. Inside, I haven't got a clue, but there's no reason why it needs to concern me.

  I slide my fingers over the menu but pay no real attention to its details. Blake is the kind of guy who likes to be in charge of dinner. He'll order for me, right down to my drinks and dessert. If we're staying for dessert.

  I take a long sip of my water, avoiding his gaze. It's penetrating again. I stare at the clean, white tablecloth as long as I can. When I can't stand it any longer, I make eye contact. The same penetrating look is on his face.

  "Kat."

  "Yes?"

  "This only works if we're honest with each other."

  "Okay. I'm tired. I'm starving. I want to go home and see my sister, but according to her texts, she's going out with her best friend. God knows where they're going or if they have fake IDs."

  He nods like he understands. His eyes pass over me, his expression softening.

  "You like me all cleaned up?" I ask.

  "It doesn't matter what I like."

  "But do you like it?"

  "Yes."

  There's this weight in my chest. It shouldn't matter, but I still feel heavy all over.

  "I liked you before, too." He reaches across the table, offering his hand. "Look at me, Kat."

  "I'm looking at you."

  "Like you're infatuated with me."

  I draw a circle on his palms with my fingertips. Make my eyes are big as they'll get. Part my lips like I'm desperate to kiss him. "Like that?"

  "We'll have to practice."

  I slide back into my chair, pulling my arms to my sides. Gaga couples can't be gaga all the time. They get into fights. Isn't the passion the whole appeal of a passionate love affair? Passion isn't just long, desperate kisses and bodies thrashing together in ecstasy. It's screaming and fighting and slapping too.

  "Kat."

  "What?" I snap. I blame hunger.

  "Have you ever loved anyone?"

  "No. And no one has ever loved me. If that was your next question." I dig my nails into my now totally smooth thighs. "If you're so good at pretending, look at me like you're in love with me."

  He nods. He slides out of his seat and kneels next to me. Several heads turn. He is in the perfect position to propose. He lifts himself up, so he's a few inches from me. His eyes get wide, soft. His lips curl into the smallest of smiles.

  Warmth spreads through my body. It's not like before. It's not a coursing, desperate heat. It's in my chest, not between my legs. Blake takes my hand and rubs the pad of his thumb against the skin between my thumb and forefinger. I look away, and he reaches for me. His fingertips graze my cheek, light as a feather. It's warm there, too.

  Dizzy. I'm dizzy. It's bright in here. Loud. But, somehow, I can't hear or see anything except him. I can't help but stare into his eyes. That look is pure affection. It's love. Hell, I almost believe it. No, not almost.

  I do believe it. That warmth swims to my stomach and cheeks. Breath escapes my body. It's all pretend. An example. But I can't stop the feeling. No one has ever looked at me like this. I want so badly for it to be real. I never wanted anything like this before, but now it's the only thing that matters.

  He leans closer. Closer. His lips are an inch from mine. It's not like before. That was passionate, yes, but it was carnal. Nothing but sex. This is sweet, innocent even. His hands slide through my hair, and for a second, I forget my whole appearance is different. My eyes flutter closed and I do forget. I forget everything except the feeling of Blake's lips. Soft. Sweet. Hint of lemon from the water.

  He pulls back and brings his mouth to my ear. "It's pretend, Kat. It's all pre
tend."

  I nod like I believe him. "I know."

  "Can you do that?"

  I nod like I believe in my ability to lie.

  He shifts back to his seat. His eyes stay glued to mine. "Good."

  "What?"

  "The way you're looking at me. I believe you."

  "Oh, yeah, of course." I press my palms against the chiffon, but the fabric does nothing to absorb the sweat. We nearly had sex in a dressing room. I shouldn't be nervous over a kiss and a few sweet glances.

  The server arrives with a good evening. Just as I predicted, Blake orders for us. I let my attention shift away, off to some place where it won't hurt me. My only job is to look at Blake like I'm in love. I can absolutely do that without falling in love. Absolutely.

  Chapter Five

  The limo ride is slow and not at all fun. Blake quizzes me on the biographical details of his life and forces me to quiz him on mine. He's utterly unblinking about it. Everything is a fact, plain and simple. His father died when Blake was fourteen, he went to Columbia at sixteen on a scholarship he didn't need, graduated at nineteen. His company was up and running by the time he could drink legally in New York State.

  It's like reading a Wikipedia entry. No tone, no opinions, nothing. Even when he tells me about his hobbies, it's like they're a list on a dating website. He plays chess, loves seafood and Sci-Fi, spends all his time working at the office or at the gym. Stress relief, he claims, but I'm harboring a serious suspicion that he likes the attention his perfect body gets him.

  Finally, we arrive at his apartment building. No help from Jordan this time. Or the doorman of the building for that matter. No, Blake is the perfect gentleman on the outside.

  He lives across the street from Central Park. Right across the street. Penthouse apartment, at least four or five times larger than the place I share with Lizzy. It's amazing. Sleek and modern, just like his office.

  Hardwood floors. Black leather couch, stainless steel appliances, thick oak table, floor-to-ceiling windows.