Clutching at her like a desperate man, Garrett buried himself in her again and again, her tight cunt squeezing his thick manhood exquisitely with every thrust. “I love you,” he breathed, every word punctuated with a thrust, each deeper than the last. Perhaps a different man would have different words to say; a cleverer tongue might find some way to frame what she and her love meant to him. As for him, he could only hope she knew, that she could feel the overwhelming volume of his affection.
As the two undulated together, moaning and groaning in turn as Garrett thrusted and Sarah braced hard against him, their breathing mingles as their bodies did, breaths timed in unison with thrusts that had each of them shuddering in pleasure. Sarah came with a cry after a particularly deep thrust, her sex spasming madly around the fat cock still busily pumping into her. “G-Ga-Garrett!” she managed to stutter out through the quakes of her orgasm. “Don’t s-stop! Ha-harder!’’
Close as he was to his own enrapturing end, Garrett managed little more than an eager growl as he did his best to comply, his strong hands grabbing her hips to hold her steady as he fucked her as hard and fast as he could. He couldn’t last long at this pace, each thrust bringing him closer to that heavenly edge. Before long though, his efforts were rewarded as Sarah’s pussy contracted around his cock in a second orgasm, this time her rapture pulling him into blissful oblivion, the two of them all but shouting as he filled her with wave after wave of his seed.
Exhausted, the couple collapsed onto the bed together, staying joined for as long as nature would allow. Garrett wrapped an arm around his bride, as the two lie together in a moment of quiet repose; the night had many hours left in it yet, and they intended to spend it entwined as man and wife.
21
Five Years Later
Sarah sat across from Garrett, a small smile on her full lips as he re-read the report. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe her, but the numbers were hard to believe. He’d never seen so much growth in such a short amount of time. There were so many new markets opening up to them that the sales team was short-staffed.
“Are these accurate? As of when?”
“As of noon.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes! Of course. What do you think I’m doing here?”
“Well, sorry! I didn’t realize Ms. Board-of-directors was too busy!”
Sarah grinned impishly, a huge smile on her lips. She tilted her head and shrugged, running her hands down the black tights she wore. Her wine-red dress was only down to her thighs, though it was intended to be knee-length. The swell of her pregnant belly had distended the dress. Of course, the top looked particularly low-cut with her large breasts. Garrett admired her again, not for the first time. He had fallen in love with his life again every day for the past five years. Before then, he’d fallen in love with her little by little every day.
It had been five years since they’d married. Six since they’d allowed themselves to fall in love. They’d spent nearly every spare moment together since. The love had never died between them, and Garrett was as happy now as he’d been on his wedding day. Sarah had turned his gloomy world upside down.
Elizabeth had served five years in jail before being released. They’d heard of her in the news a fair bit, bouncing from one C-list celebrity to another, trying to find work. She never seemed to get anything, but she tried. Garrett had not spoken to her since, other than to ask where he might forward her mail to. He’d put all her things in storage.
Mr. Townsend had been found to be one Thomas Christian Salvatore IV, a hired contract hitman. The police, FBI and Interpol had been trying to catch him for a long time. Thanks to Devon’s handiwork, he’d been caught, and had served time behind bars. His lawyer had been a slimy man, and done his best to help his client. In fact, Thomas would only serve ten years, and needed to be tried for each individual murder he was accused of. Unfortunately, he’d died in prison after a run in with a former client. Garrett never found it very unfortunate at all.
Charles had also grown quite a bit. At six, he was the spitting image of Garrett, though he felt the child looked most like his beloved wife. The boy had a mess of blonde-brown curls which seemed to darken with every season. His eyes were the same dark brown color as Garrett’s, and when he wasn’t giving the world a twin of his mother's mischievous smile, he was looking as sober as Garrett. The boy was playful, but had a love of animals and was terribly kind. He loved his grandmother, and would spend any chance he had with her and her pets. Trisha had been more than happy to show him around the gardens with their rabbits, or the horses in the pasture.
The company had grown exponentially; having Elizabeth’s rumors and attacks debunked, Garrett had been allowed to remain as CEO so long as he was quiet, and did not stir the pot again. Lastly, Sarah would need to be removed as an assistant. Garrett had complied, and Sarah had agreed to join the board of directors, while running the PR department after Garrett’s former PR officer hastily resigned over the scandals.
“I’m actually quite busy, thank you very much. I have a date with my husband.”
“Oh, do you?”
“Yes.”
“Where are you going?”
“Well, to a Christmas party later. But first…”
“First?”
Sarah stood and slowly sauntered around the side of his desk, a mischievous smile on her lips.
“I think I’d like to test this desk out. We always meant to, don’t you think? It has these perfect little hand holds at the front…”
Garrett groaned eagerly and gave her a sexy grin before reaching out to pull his wife into his lap, and kiss her soundly. His arms pulled her to straddle him and he nuzzled against her jaw, kissing and nipping her lower lip. He could already feel her hands deftly teasing down his front, then up again. As if by his own accord his body began to stir in response to her.
Garrett took her in once more, and reaffirmed he’d give her anything in the whole world, so long as it would make her smile. He would cherish her for the rest of her days, and for the rest of his. He would honor her, and she would honor him in turn, and the thought was enough to have tears tugging at his eyes. Of course, with Sarah so close, he wasn’t about to let her cry.
“I agree. Let’s try out the desk,” Garrett murmured, feeling the happiness he’d thought would only be fleeting, once more. Garrett knew then that he would never be lonesome again.
He was happy.
The Big Billionaire’s Mistress
By: Natasha Spencer
The Big Billionaire’s Mistress
© November 2017 – All rights reserved
By Natasha Spencer,
Published by Passionate Publishing Inc.
This is a work of fiction. All names and characters in this novel are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or events is entirely coincidental.
This book is for your personal enjoyment only. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission from the publisher.
Warning
This book is intended for adult readers, 18+ years old. Please close this e-book if you are not comfortable reading adult content.
Chapter 1
"llo?"
Guillaume sighed at the sound of her voice, but there was no time to flirt. He took one last look at the man making his way to the car then delivered the bad news, “L'oiseau vole au sud.”
‘Bien,” was all the clipped voice on the other end said before hanging up.
Guillaume had expected no less and felt sorry for her – but he had a job to do and there was nothing he could do about it, whatsoever. Not for her, not for any of them.
He gave his boss a perfunctory “good morning,” as the man stepped into the car then slammed the door after him. Guillaume got into the driver’s seat, revved the engine, and drove the limo off. It never once occurred to him to expect a response.
“Bonjour,” came the distracted reply before the window clicked shut betwe
en them. That surprised Guillaume and made him wonder if he’d misunderstood. Too late, now. He couldn’t call back. And what if he was right? Better to give them the benefit of a doubt, poor things.
Several miles away, a very ugly and modern high-rise building squatted at the corner of Rue Censier and Rue Geoffrey-Saint-Hilaire in the 5th arrondissement. The fact that it was surrounded by a row of trees on two sides did nothing to mitigate its ugliness, whatsoever. If anything, those trees and the more traditional looking buildings that surrounded it, made it look even uglier than it already was.
Fortunately, it looked a lot better inside – depending on where one’s tastes lay. It was a combination of futurism and Japanese minimalism – all white, straight lines with a minimum of color, interspersed here and there with potted plants to keep it from looking too sterile. Several massive, framed photographs, all in monochromatic black-and-white and sepia tones, graced the walls. These depicted pre-WWII European cityscapes in marked contrast to the ultra-modernist interior they inhabited.
In it were people: all professionally dressed, complete with bland, distracted, or smug expressions, as well as quite a few sleepy-looking ones who went about their business. All looked supremely confident in a calm and efficient manner. It wouldn’t last.
“The bird is flying south!” Marie yelled to everyone within earshot, still cradling her cellphone in her ear. “I repeat: the bird is flying south!”
People froze. Outside, two window washers dangled on their precarious bench and gawked as they beheld the spectacle before them. It was as if they were watching a movie set in some dystopian futuristic office somewhere in Tokyo and someone pressed the pause button. But that, too, wouldn’t last.
Pandemonium broke out as people passed the information on to the other offices and levels. They yelled into hallways, into stairwells, into offices, into toilets, and toilet stalls. They screeched into their phones or tapped away text messages when all they got was the answering service. Yet others picked up phones on their desks to bark the same warning.
And it wasn’t just the white collar workers who panicked. Security staff, food trolley pushers, janitors, and cafeteria personnel gasped and passed on the dreaded code. Even the bike couriers sat up straight and looked at each other with wide, fearful eyes.
“Aller! Aller! Aller!” hissed one at a secretary who was taking too damned long to sign the paperwork. “Go! Go! Go!” he translated in case the woman didn’t understand French for some reason; or perhaps in the desperate hope that she’d somehow respond better to English than to her native French.
“¡Apúrate!” was the Spanish-language version barked by an Argentinian immigrant to another secretary. In his panic he’d forgotten his French and had reverted back to his native tongue, “¡Apúrate, por favor!”
On the building’s highest floor and in the biggest office, Marie sat quietly as the storm surge exploded around her and burst forth throughout the building’s many floors. She had given the warning, so her job was done. She knew exactly what her boss wanted, how he wanted it, and when.
It’s why she and most everyone else came in early – to impress. In her case, she also made sure that everything in her boss’ office, in his reception room, in his personal toilet, and on the roof deck where he liked to unwind was exactly as he required it to be.
She had also called in the best pastry makers to ensure that their clients had the best of the best – only the finest to delight the eyes, nose, and tongue. Ditto with the meats and breads. As for the coffee, only the best, as well: Blue Mountain flown in from Jamaica. And despite the fact that it was only a little past eight in the morning – the finest wines, just in case.
So while everyone else was running around like chickens with their heads cut off, Marie calmly saw to it that the conference room was stocked in a way fit for royalty. She let Olivie, her assistant, take care of the front desk. If the bird needed to call, he’d call her cellphone directly like Guillaume did.
Not for her the crazed and panicked whirlwind that gripped the office every other week or month. All around her, everyone went hysterical as they double checked their work stations, sections, and whatever other sector of the building they worked in or were responsible for. Not for her the last minute checking of suits, ties, belts, shoelaces, and whatever other accoutrements everyone else wore to the office.
Because Marie had a secret. It kept her safe and ensured that she’d get to retire from this company when she wanted to. Equally important, it ensured that she was safe from the tempests of the man who signed her paychecks.
And so, of all the hundreds of people who worked in the modern building with an ugly exterior and an Architectural Digest-esque interior, Marie was the only one who didn’t dread that most dreaded of all codes: “L'oiseau vole au sud.” The bird is flying south.
*****
Amanda Sorensen couldn’t believe her luck – she was in Paris! Not her first time, since it was just across the Channel from her native London, of course. But this time, she was here to live. And most importantly, to work. Perhaps just as important, she was no longer in London.
To her surprise, she found herself breathing easier for the first time in months. It had nothing to do with the air, though Paris in August was a lot warmer than London. A lot less muggy, too. It was paradise, actually... well, except for all the tourists. But she was used to that.
No, she was able to breathe a lot easier because crossing the Channel had lifted the cloud that had hung over her since August of last year. It was a wonder they even hired her, given how unsmiling she’d been in her interview. Fortunately, it had been exactly the right thing to do. The interviewer had been French, after all, which explained everything.
Amanda had to remind herself of that as she walked across the Pont de Sully Bridge over the Seine River – don’t walk about smiling like an American tourist. It annoys the French and makes them uncomfortable, at best, or makes them tempted to take advantage of you, at worst.
Her job didn’t actually start for another thirty minutes, but she wanted to take in as much of the city as she could while it still looked fresh for her. It was important to do so before work and the habit of living here made her immune to its charms.
Nor did she want to rush. Bad form to turn up at the office frazzled, sweaty, and disheveled. Best to give herself a lot of leeway and make an early start. She was lucky to live relatively close to her new job, close enough to walk to, that is, given the cost of real estate in central Paris. And a good thing, too.
Because it was tourist season. Despite it being so early in the morning, the streets were already crammed with gawkers from all over the world – stopping, staring, pointing, snapping pictures, walking in packs thick enough to clog up the sidewalks, and generally just being a nuisance.
Stop it! she snapped at the evil twin sister who lived in her head. It’s over, you’re in Paris, and you have a great job, so stop being such a bitch, already!
But not here – here being the Pont de Sully. She had just left the Île Saint-Louis (an islet between Paris’ Left and Right Banks) on her way to the Left Bank. For some strange reason, there were hardly any tourists here, at all. They were all gawking at the other sites, no doubt, giving the local residents a breath of fresh air and much needed elbow room.
“Please!” said a high-pitched male voice in thickly accented English. “Can you take picture?”
Amanda yelped in surprise and nearly fell over backward. Where the devil did he come from!? Her good mood vanished. She was about to tell him to go to hell, to get the heck out of her way, to stop waving the damned camera at her face, and to go back to wherever the bejeezus he came from. Then she kicked herself for that last thought and hated herself instantly.
If the man picked up on any of these thoughts, he gave no sign of it, whatsoever. He was instead grinning from ear to ear and looked so boyishly out of his mind with joy, that Amanda hated herself even more. Beside him, leaning against the bridge’s iron balustrade, w
as a gorgeous, petite Asian woman beaming and bowing at her with equal delight.
Amanda looked at the woman a little wistfully, but the couple’s joy was so pure, it infected her. She vowed to really hate herself again later with a vengeance. In fact, she’d even punish herself by maybe running an extra hour after work. And by not stepping into that pastry shop on her way home. There! That should do it!
Satisfied by her avowed penance, the mask she’d worn since stepping out of her apartment melted and she grinned. “I’d love to!”
Amanda had taken up photography back in grade school and had even received a few awards for some of her work. Hoping to make up for her uncharitable thoughts, she decided that the best thing would be to include important landmarks in the background so that the couple could show off to friends and family back home – wherever that was.
Standing on the Pont de Sully as they were, the location was perfect. The Notre Dame Cathedral loomed in the background further down the Seine. Between the cathedral and where they stood were the old buildings that lined the Right Bank along the Quai de Béthune. It was absolutely perfect!
Except for the angle, that is. The couple turned around to gaze at the cathedral then looked back at Amanda, grinning even more as they bobbed their heads excitedly and babbled in their language. The man gave her a thumbs up, delighted that Amanda understood exactly what they wanted: the perfect backdrop.
But the angle was wrong. Amanda walked up and down the bridge, hoping to get the perfect shot while the couple obligingly posed – but nope. She got the couple dab smack in the center of her sights, but sacrificed the view of the Notre Dame in the background. There was only one possible solution.
She had to cross the street. Not sure how much English they understood, she gestured for them to stay put then pointed to the other side of the road as she mimicked taking their picture. The couple understood and each gave her a thumbs up.
Unwrap Me Daddy Page 12
