Resisting the Billionaire

by Allie Winters

  “Ah, Miss Sweet.” A second man stands at attention once I’m inside the lobby, stepping out from behind his desk. “Mr. Bishop is expecting you. Right this way, if you please.”

  I’m led over to the elevator, not exactly sure what’s happening. I thought there’d be an intercom or something. I wasn’t aware I’d be human ID’d.

  He inserts a key into a special slot and steps back, tipping his hat at me.

  “Um, thank you.”

  “Anytime, miss. Mr. Bishop said you’re welcome whenever you like.”

  He did?

  The doors close, my reflection gazing back at me as I begin my ascent. I smooth my hair from my face, releasing a long breath as I adjust the wraparound tie on my blue dress.

  Did I take extra time with my appearance? Maybe. Brushed my teeth, shaved my legs, and wore a matching set of lingerie? Again, maybe.

  But those are all things I normally do. They just happened to coincide tonight. He asked me over as a friend. To watch a movie. What’s that phrase - Netflix and chill?

  Wait. Not the best example.

  The elevator pings and I whisper a silent prayer, thanking this building for not being a walk-up. Then again, this is the forty-ninth floor. It’d be near impossible to jog up and down that many flights daily.

  I check my teeth in my reflection one last time before the doors open on a short hallway with a single door. Does he have the entire floor to himself?

  Wait, what am I thinking? Of course he does. He comes from a billionaire family.

  I ring the doorbell and shake out my hands for a few moments before he opens the door, as handsome as ever in a gray button-down with the sleeves rolled up I’ve seen him in before.

  “I missed you,” he murmurs, stepping in close to briefly kiss my cheek.

  The way a friend would, I tell myself as I set my purse on the front entryway table, lingering over how his stubble had lightly grazed my skin, the luscious scent of his cologne wrapping itself around me. “I saw you yesterday.”

  “I know,” he says, sticking his hands in his pockets. “But I figured since we’re being honest with each other now, I’d tell you.”

  We are being honest, aren’t we? Everything is out in the open. Well, not quite everything. I’ve told him I… desire him, but have I said how much I care about him? How much I simply enjoy his company? If I didn’t know better, I’d actually say I’m fall-

  Nope, slippery slope. Not going down that way.

  I finally glance around, my jaw nearly dropping at the floor to ceiling view. “My God,” I mutter, walking over to the bank of windows that face the skyline. “It’s like you’re a god looking down at the mortals.”

  “I’m just Gabriel,” he replies, expression sober.

  Oh, shit. I said the wrong thing again, didn’t I? “Right. I’m sorry.” I bite my lip, chuckling humorlessly. “Look at me, not here for two minutes and already putting my foot in my mouth.”

  He gives a small smile. “No, you’re right. But Archer’s view is even higher. The king of gods,” he says, pointing above him.

  “Your brother’s on the fiftieth floor?” He nods. “But I thought you weren’t close.”

  “I mean, physically we are. But I hardly ever see him. A ghost might as well live up there. He’s turning into a workaholic. Into Dad.”

  I keep gazing out the window at the setting sun, unsure what to say. It’s easy to forget sometimes he comes from this kind of money with how down to earth he acts. But it seems riches still can’t save you from a dysfunctional family.

  “This place is suspiciously neat,” I comment in an attempt to change the subject.

  “I have a housekeeper who comes twice a week,” he admits. “I’d never be able to keep up with an apartment this size otherwise.”

  “Can you give me a tour?”

  He sweeps his arm out wide at the open area, encompassing the sleek leather furniture and marble-topped end tables. “Living room.”

  He leads me to a stainless steel and granite filled gourmet kitchen, with barstools along the outer counter. “Kitchen.”

  I eye the sub-zero fridge covetously as he continues down a hallway opening doors to a guest bedroom and bathroom, and a room decorated like an office.

  “I don’t use any of these,” he says. “I just left them how the designer styled it.”

  We stop at the last door, which he opens slowly. “And bedroom.”

  One wall is completely glass, looking out again at the Manhattan skyscrapers, a California king on the opposite wall with dark, inviting bedding. Through a doorway lies a marble filled bathroom, with a walk-in shower probably as big as my entire kitchen. This entire apartment could easily fit six or seven of mine.

  “Looks cozy,” I joke, a vast understatement for a room that’s actually large enough for its own separate seating area in the corner. My living room is barely big enough for that. And I don’t even have an enclosed bedroom. God, what did he think seeing my tiny studio apartment?

  I turn away, heading back toward the living area. “Your place is amazing.”

  He shrugs, taking a seat on the couch. “It’s fine.”

  Fine? I would kill for somewhere like this. Along with every other New Yorker.

  He laughs at whatever expression must be on my face. “What do I need with all this space?” he asks, holding his arms out wide. “The whole thing is extravagant.”

  “I thought you wanted to keep your father’s money.”

  “I do, but-”

  I wait a moment for him to finish, but he doesn’t. “But what?”

  “It just… doesn’t seem as important as it did when I first agreed to all this.”

  I feel like he’s trying to communicate something with his eyes to me, but I’m not quite sure what it is. “But your family still is, right? Your younger brother?”

  “Right,” he nods slowly. “I wouldn’t want to put him in a weird position. Or Archer, even.”

  I fiddle with the tie of my dress. “What are we watching tonight?”

  “Ladies choice,” he smiles, grabbing the remote off the coffee table to turn on the TV, the mood shifting to something more light-hearted.

  I pick pretty much the first thing that pops up on Netflix, not caring what it is, and as the opening credits begin, I’m barely able to pay attention.

  Are we really only watching a movie? Not that I’m planning on sleeping with him, that’s a firm line I won’t cross. But what is he thinking?

  I glance over at him from the corner of my eye, his gaze trained on the television. I guess we really are watching it.

  No, that’s good. That’s what we should be doing. I relax into the cushions, finally focusing on what I picked. A romantic drama. Great.

  Two hours and a bowl of popcorn later, I’m somehow snuggled into his side, his arm around my shoulder. I swear I don’t even remember getting in this position. It just kind of… happened. But there’s something so comfortable, so right about it, it hardly seems a big deal at all.

  As the movie ends, he picks up the remote and shuts off the TV, moonlight filtering in through the windows to cast a dim light upon us, enough to see him with, shadowed and serious.

  The hand on my shoulder moves, Gabriel silent as he plays with the tips of my hair, working his fingers through the loose curls till he strokes my scalp, sending shivers through me. I let him massage the nape of my neck, enjoying his touch even as the rational part of my brain screams this isn’t a good idea.

  “Don’t think about it,” he whispers, like he knows the direction my thoughts are taking. “I’m not touching you anywhere wrong.”

  His hand continues that way for a few more moments before it drifts softly across my upper back and down my other arm, our fingers briefly intertwining.

  “Holding hands isn’t wrong?” I whisper back.

  “It’s innocent.” He moves down further. “Your arm, your hand, your lower leg.” His hand trails south to my ankle, slowly skimming up to my knee, flirtin
g with the hem of my dress. “Those are all places a friend would touch. Perfectly respectable.”

  His hand lingers on my knee, fiddling with the hem, and I hold my breath, waiting to see what he’ll do.

  I should stop him. We both know there’s nothing friendly about his touch. He radiates desirous intent, even if he’s not acting on it. But as my stomach dips low in anticipation, any kind of protest dies in my throat. I can’t deny I didn’t suspect something like this would happen tonight. It’s only a matter of how far we’re willing to take it.

  “Do you have any idea how bad I want to continue up?” he pants lightly, eyes flicking up to meet mine. “To find out what heaven feels like right under that dress?”

  I swallow, my panties dampening, picturing him doing just that. I squeeze my inner thighs together tightly to contain the lust running rampant through me, my heart picking up in speed.

  “But you’re a good girl. You’d never do something that bad.” He removes his hand, the loss of him turning me cold, still filled with arousal. The inner voice screaming earlier this isn’t a good idea is now screaming for more of him.

  He’s right, though. He can’t touch me like that.

  But that doesn’t mean… I can’t touch me.

  My fingers tremble as they drift down to the same spot on my knee, and slowly draw the bottom of my dress up, revealing my thighs.

  He stares silently, unable to look away, pure lust in his eyes. We both must be seriously hard up if just the sight of my thighs has us this edgy.

  My stomach flutters, inhibitions loosening as I lift it even further, until the edge of my lace panties is visible. I can’t remember ever doing anything so daring, so utterly risque, but something about the mood of the room, the anonymity that darkness brings, has me going further than I normally would.

  He reaches out and I stop him, grabbing his wrist. “You can’t touch me.”

  He takes in a harsh breath, his gaze never leaving the black lace. “Please tell me you will then,” he chokes out.

  I nod, the relief and excitement on his face something to behold.

  I continue my journey upward, revealing my underwear, softly caressing myself over the satin and lace. His eyes are hot on me, spurring me on, giving me the confidence to dip two fingers inside.

  He groans as I reposition myself so I have better access, parting my inner lips, the first touch on my clit wondrous.

  “Are you wet?” He’s quiet, as if afraid to break this spell that’s over us, and I can’t blame him. It’s like we’re in our own world right now, separate from everything else, all the warnings from before muted.

  “I’m so wet.” It comes out as more of a moan, his presence making the experience so much hotter than it’d be by myself, alone in my apartment. My fingers pump in and out, eyes fluttering shut, imagining it as his fingers instead as warmth spreads through me.

  “Is this how you normally masturbate?” His voice is encouraging, no censure present. Only eagerness, as if my answer is the most important thing to him right now.

  “I sometimes undress first,” I reply without thinking, the pressure on my clit making everything else slightly hazy, lost in desire.

  A deep grunt issues from him, involuntary, from some primal place. “Don’t let me stop you then.”

  I can’t tell if he’s serious or not, but I’m too far gone at this point. I reach for the tie to my wraparound dress with my free hand, pulling it until it loosens enough to showcase my matching black satin bra, the one that gives me major cleavage.

  “Oh, fuck,” he murmurs, his own hand drifting south over the erection tenting the front of his pants.

  I run a finger between the valley of my breasts, his gaze traveling the same path, chest rising and falling more heavily, breaths growing audible. He draws his zipper down, cock popping free from the confines of his boxers, and it’s all I can do not to gasp in delight as all my attention focuses on him. It’s difficult to make out too much detail in the dim light, but there’s no mistaking how long and thick he is, the sight sending a fresh wave of arousal through me.

  He grips it roughly, stroking it from base to tip, then runs his thumb over the head, his eyes closing in pure bliss for just a moment before they’re back on me, the blue of them electric with heat. “Show me how you touch yourself,” he murmurs, not quite a command, but there’s no room for disagreement in his tone.

  Or maybe I don’t want to disagree.

  My fingers continue to caress myself down below as my other hand draws down a bra cup, squeezing myself gently, dragging my thumb slowly over the nipple until it’s a hard bud. “So many guys go full throttle right away, but I like it slow. Drawing out the anticipation until I’m breathless, begging for it.”

  He slows the movements of his own hand to match my speed, lips parted, such sensual desire on his face, I have to close my eyes so I don’t reach out to him.

  “Is this what you picture when you think of me? When you… masturbate?” The question slips out unwittingly, but I don’t regret it. In this moment, the two of us so in sync, I need to know.

  “Yes,” he breathes.

  “What else?”

  He strokes himself, answering, “I imagine parting those pretty thighs, tearing your panties off with my teeth, and feasting. Among all the other ways I dream about you.” A bead of precum releases from the tip of his cock and he spreads it around the head till it’s glistening. My thighs tense in an effort to stop myself from reaching forward and sucking it the way I want to so badly.

  “But now, I know to go slow,” he continues, eyes gleaming. “To give you little licks and nips, teasing you. I’ll make it so good for you. Anything you want.”

  I tweak my nipple as I increase the pace of my fingers, finally at the point I need serious relief, feverish with desire. “Tell me more.”

  “I’ll lick you long and slow,” he murmurs, his actions belying his words as his movements become more frantic. “Until you’re writhing on the bed, lost in your pleasure. Thighs splayed open, hips thrusting, pleading for more. And I’ll give it to you. I’ll give you everything.”

  A cry escapes me, my fingers furiously searching for that elusive thrill, skin hypersensitive and aching. I’m so close.

  “And just when you think you can’t take it anymore, I’ll suck you hard, until you’re coming in my mouth, your hands tangled in my hair, holding me in place because you can’t get enough of me. The way I can’t get enough of you.”

  I bite my lip to contain the loud moan rising within me as I tip over the edge.

  “I want you so bad. All the time. It’s torture to be so close, unable to have you. But I keep doing it because it means I get to be near you, next to you. I just want to be with you.”

  My body shudders as my orgasm overtakes me, his words making my heart soar, despite knowing I shouldn’t take pleasure in something we can’t act on.

  I throw my head back, watching out of the corner of my eye as his movements go jerky, cum spurting on his hand, narrowly missing his expensive shirt, his grip so tight on himself it seems painful.

  I look over at him as languorous warmth spreads all through me, a satisfied smile on his face. “Was it as good for you as it was for me?” he jokes, making me chuckle. He grabs a tissue off the end table, using it to wipe himself off, and tucks himself back into his boxers. “When can we do it again?”

  The warmth dissipates, cold realization taking its place. As amazing as this was, it can’t happen again. Everything in me is screaming to kiss him, to wrap myself around him and never let go, but that isn’t an option. It shouldn’t have gone this far to begin with.

  We didn’t touch each other inappropriately, but the spirit of it was still the same.

  I readjust my bra cup and close the sides of my dress, covering myself as I answer, “We can’t.”

  He stills, his eyes taking on that intense expression I normally love seeing on him. “Why?”

  I gaze at him, his inky black locks tousled, stubbl
e dotting his jaw to give him a deliciously disheveled appearance. He’s so gorgeous, even more so now that I really know him, what a good soul he has, one that hardly anyone else sees. It’s only those eyes that are out of place, alight with misgiving.

  “Because it’ll lead to more. And I can’t. I can’t be that person.”

  “I’ve told you,” he growls, voice hard. “It’s not cheating. It’s all fake.”

  I shake my head, the ethics of it too much to get into again. “I didn’t touch you tonight, but the temptation was there, nearly unbearable at times. And I thought, what’s one little touch? No one would know.” I smooth down the front of my dress, then finally tie it shut. “But I would. And then I’d start justifying to myself why the next touch would be okay, and the next, and the next, until we’re in this full-blown affair. I don’t want that happening.”

  He grinds his teeth, unable to refute my words, even if he doesn’t like what I’m saying.

  I stand and find my shoes to slip them on, glancing out the windows one more time at the amazing view.

  He follows me to the door, standing close but not touching, respecting my wishes.

  “Thank you for a fantastic night,” I whisper. “But I won’t be back. Being alone here with you will only lead to something worse.”

  He nods, his face both defiant and sorrowful. “I’m not sorry. Not when it means I got to share that with you.”

  That temptation returns, that powerful urge to reach out and touch him, to simply stroke his jaw and discover if his stubble really is as prickly as it looks, to trace his lower lip and see if it’s as soft as I remember.

  But I keep my hands to myself, clenching them tightly to my sides, my dress flaring out slightly as I whirl around to exit, putting myself out of temptation’s grasp. Resisting this gorgeous, considerate, sensual man who ticks all my boxes.

  Kind to others. Check.

  Makes me laugh. Check.

  Breathtakingly handsome. Check.

  And sexy as fuck. Triple check.

  Plus, so many other things. I can’t count the favors he’s done for me, the ways he’s come to the rescue.