Billionaire Romance: Club Billionaire (The Complete Series)

by Duval, Lexi

  I avoid their questions, however, sticking to my legal promises, and get on with my day. One which involves running errands that are long overdue.

  First of all, I manage to just about get my car to a local mechanic for a tune up. The thing has been belching black smoke for months and is in need of some serious RnR. I'd already counted up my tips from the previous night – a quiet one according to Alice – and came up with $560. The sight of that money almost sent me into shock.

  I spend half of it on a downpayment for my motor before going grocery shopping. Another symptom of being poor is to end up eating noodles and tomato sauce every other meal, with soup, bread, and whatever else is cheap in between. Hardly the most nutritious of diets, and liable to fill my body with a few extra unwanted pounds.

  When I return, copious bags of food in hand, I find the stoner twins assuming their usual position playing video games on the sofa, drinking beer, and smoking weed. The smell, so caustic and bitter when I first moved in, is now almost homely to me. Some days it even has an effect, sending me laughing like the Joker along with the rest of them.

  That evening I cook them dinner, so grateful for their help in finding me a job, and watch with a smile on my face as they devour every last bit. The two of them have become like my wacky younger brothers, the brothers I never had. Being an only child will lend itself to such feelings of melancholy from time to time.

  When Friday dawns, there's nothing on my mind but Club Billionaire. I prepare for the evening by going shopping, spending the rest of my cash on the sort of outfit I saw the other waitresses wear the other night, and getting my hair trimmed and colored.

  I look in the mirror at the finished product before leaving and see a changed woman. Glamorous, sexy, seductive. Like Alice, only a few years younger.

  My heart pounds with nerves as I approach the mansion on 5th Avenue that evening. This time, though, there's more than anxiety and apprehension there – there's excitement too. I stop on the street outside and watch a couple of men appear, stepping from limos and casually pacing inside.

  Billionaires. Men with power beyond reckoning. The type who shape the world as they see fit. I begin to imagine what sort of conversations take place down there as they sip on their whiskey and suck on cigars. What plans are concocted to deepen their wealth, shape the fortunes of nations, alter the course of history. The thought makes my head spin.

  At the entrance I'm greeted by two guards. They look just like the men from the other night. Black suits, white shirts, automatic weapons. Both carry stern scowls, as if mastering that expression is a prerequisite for the job. My guess is that they're both ex military.

  They order me to show my pass, which Alice issued me two nights before. It's scanned, along with my entire body, and I'm nodded through without so much as a smile. They don't even glance at my copious bosom, peering over the top of my shirt. Now that's professionalism.

  I reach the elevator, and my pulse quickens. Once more, I'm scanned as I pass through. I use my pass to activate the controls on the inside, and press the button for the floor below. A notice that there appear to also be several floors above this level as well.

  Given that the basement is for meeting the needs these men have to socialize, drink, smoke, and fuck, I begin to wonder what the other floors are for. With my mind lurching forward searching for possibilities, the elevator drops, the door opens, and I'm greeted with a sight that sends my heart galloping and nerves shredding.

  Tonight, I think to myself, I'm going to make a lot of money.

  Ahead of me, the hall is filled with life. There must be at least five times as many people here this evening, perhaps more. They mingle and drink and smoke. Some laugh and share anecdotes. Others talk quietly in corners, discussing more serious topics. Between them, some of the most beautiful women I've ever seen float around, smiling bright and wide, drawing eyes wherever they go.

  One, in particular, catches my eye. She's brunette, her hair shoulder length and wavy, her eyes dark and alluring. Her skin holds a darkish tone too, giving her an exotic feel. South American, perhaps. Maybe Brazilian. She looks like a supermodel. Perfect in every regard. Slim, but not skinny. Curved in all the right areas. Her bust, her ass, her hips all wiggle in unison as she struts from place to place, taking orders, receiving compliments. She takes everything in her stride.

  She's very different to how I saw her previously. She's clothed, for a start, and not tied to a bed. I can't see between her legs, right up into her cunt. Her skin isn't dripping with sweat, her face not drawn in an endless expression of pleasure. And she hasn't just had Kyle eating her pussy, sharing the meal with his dick.

  She seems to catch eyes with me from below as she flits around, but quickly diverts have gaze away. Then Alice notices me, standing too long at the edge of the gallery, and quickly approaches.

  “Belle,” she says, her voice a harsh whisper. “You're not here to ogle the crowd. Get to work...!”

  I remember myself, remember I'm here to do a job, not fantasize over the most beautiful couple I've ever seen in the throes of some sexual game. I step forward, holding my grace, and immediately fall into the same act as the previous night.

  It's only about 30 minutes in that I notice the beautiful Brazilian departing the room, slipping through the door to the 'brothel' with a casual confidence that belies what goes on in there. She goes in alone, most likely with a man already awaiting her, and an odd surge of jealousy spreads through me at the thought that it might be Kyle.

  More girls come and go, as do men, but all the while Kyle remains elusive. For the next few hours I keep my head down, do my job, and marvel at the number of bills I've already managed to collect. I allow myself the briefest of counts in the bar room while fetching some drinks. Only half way through the night and I've got a thousand dollars in my pocket.

  I feel like I'm in a feverish dream, or like I've suddenly been blasted into the future where the value of money has dropped significantly. As if this thousand dollars is only the equivalent of a few measly bucks. I still can't believe this is all real. That such simple, menial work can garner such money.

  But then, to these men, it's like handing out pennies to the poor. They probably see it as charity, as a way to help these girls through college.

  It's midway through the night when Kyle appears. I watch him step out of the elevator, dressed as sharply as ever, and drift down the steps like he's walking on air. Even among these men, he seems to stand out, as if there's an aura around him. Every glance, every little look and smile sends a shiver up my spine. A shiver of desire, and need. A throb inside me that can't be satiated by my fantasies alone.

  And quickly, I begin to discover what Alice was talking about.

  Power is attractive, sure.

  But power and beauty is impossible to resist.

  Chapter Three

  Kyle approaches me.

  My nerves stand on end, but my facade doesn't change. He's wearing a serious look, eyes penetrating me.

  “Belle, a word?”

  As when I first met him, it's not a question. He walks toward the door to the bar, passes through the room, and continues on into a stock room further back. I follow, the sound of voices and glasses clinking fading into nothing. Soon, we're alone, standing face to face in a room filled with boxes and other unused props and furniture.

  He fixes his eyes on me.

  “What were you doing on the other side of the building the other night?”

  I stare at the floor. “Nothing. I was just curious as to what was back there.”

  “And how did you feel about what you saw?” I can feel his eyes probing at me, but keep my gaze on everything but him.

  “I guess I was surprised. But then Alice explained everything to me.”

  “OK,” he says. “And how did you feel when you saw me.”

  I don't answer.

  I feel his fingers lightly touching my chin, guiding it up, bringing my gaze to his. “Did you like what you saw?”


  “I guess.” My voice is weak, nothing but a mumble. I feel like a child, being spoken to by an adult.

  “You don't have to feel ashamed if you did. I understand this place is nothing like what you've experienced before...”

  “How do you know what I've experienced?” I ask quickly, almost curtly. I'm overstepping the mark, and I know it.

  “Do you know what money gives you, Belle?” Kyle asks.

  He doesn't wait for an answer.

  “It gives you power and influence. It buys anything you want, including information. I know more about you than you realize.”

  I feel suddenly like I'm under a spotlight. Like I'm open, bare, my life exposed in a way that makes me uncomfortable.

  “I know about your parents' deaths. I know about your time working in LA in the strip bar. I know it all, Belle, and that's why you're here. This place will suit you well, and...it will be good for you.”

  His mention of the strip bar throws me. How the hell does he know about that? I was using a different name, earning cash in hand. Nothing official, everything off the books. It was soon after my parents had died when I was 18, and I was rebelling. I would get drunk and do drugs, strip in front of the dregs of the underworld. Back then I didn't care. Back then I was lost.

  “So Belle, I ask you once more. Did you like what you saw back there?”

  I fix my eyes on his, thinking of his lean, muscled body and that damn towel. Wishing I could have ripped it off and seen beneath it. All I have to rely on now is my damn imagination. It's not enough...

  “I liked it,” I say firmly.

  “That's good.” He nods, lifts his palm to my cheek. “That's very good.”

  His touch is electric. It sends shocks and shudders through me, shooting from my face, past my lips, my breasts, right down to my inner thighs. I shift my weight gently, sucked in toward him, like a magnet drawn to another. An impossible attraction grips me, like I've never felt before. A yearning to have him, to feel him inside me. His tongue inside my mouth, his cock inside my cunt...

  I look in his eyes, narrow and cut deep beneath his brow. I see a reflection within them. A reflection of my desire, my need. And he can take it. Take me now, take me anywhere. I'm a mortal standing in front of a God, unable to resist. And Alice's words echo between my ears. This man is impossible to resist.

  His lips touch mine first.

  I feel myself being drawn up onto my toes, my heels leaving the concrete floor, my mouth agape and waiting for his tongue. It drifts inside, like a boat passing slowly under a bridge, and begins working its way around the inside of my mouth. Tentatively, my tongue joins his, and they dance together in the darkness.

  A fire consumes me. The feel of his lips, the touch of his tongue, the gentle probing of his fingers at my hips; it all sparks an inferno, a blaze from within. I feel my pussy grow wet and warm. Waking up from a slumber that's lasted too long. Yearning for the feel of his tongue, his fingers, his dick. Preparing for the assault.

  I want to reach down, grab him below, but something holds me back. Something that tells me he's the one in control. That I'm nothing but a pawn in his game. A toy for him to enjoy.

  The feeling overwhelms me. The wealth, the power, of the man locked to my lips. He can do anything to me. Do anything to anyone. I'm an ant next to him, an insignificant life-form, at his mercy, bowing to his desires.

  His lips become more frantic, and I notice the change in his breathing – faster, shorter. His hands grow more busy, sliding up my hips, my sides, reaching my hair, brushing through it. He takes a light grip, pulls my head back. There's a tiny dart of pain through my scalp, but the look in his eyes makes me forget it. A sensual look of rabid lust. Eyes so narrow they're nothing but slits, like a hunting cat staring at its prey.

  I'm your prey.

  I dare to glance down at his crotch. Beneath his pants is a bulge, his cock growing and fighting to escape. He follows my eyes down, then drops his large, strong hand onto the top of my head. The instruction is clear.

  I slowly drop to my knees, set my fingers free on his zipper. I'm trying to be sexy, trying to take it slow, but my hands are shaking, my tremulous fingers overacting. I unbuckle his belt. His zipper comes down. His cock, enclosed beneath tight black underwear, springs forth from its cage.

  When my fingers brush over it, I feel a shudder through his legs. I grip the elastic top of his underwear and peel it down, releasing the tip of his dick. I gulp, sucking air at the sight as I reveal it fully. He's not fully erect, but already I can tell he's big. The end throbs, silently moving up and down as blood rushes into it, filling it up, preparing it for what's to come.

  Now I hear his words, coming at me through a haze. “Do you like what you see,” he asks, staring down at me. I look up, my eyes large like a doll, and smile, breathless. He doesn't need me to answer.

  I feel his hand on my head once more, and slowly, surely, he guides me forward. I need no coaxing. Not with him. I quickly run my tongue over my lips, lubricating them, and feel his dick slide inside me, hardening with every second, creeping to the back of my throat.

  The groan that escapes his mouth is audible. It makes me feel powerful myself. Pleasure, it seems, is also power, wielded by those capable of giving it.

  It's my first blowjob in months. But it's something I've always enjoyed. I've always been more of a giver than a taker. More happy to please than be pleased. But few dicks are as delicious as this. As beautifully formed, like something from a Greek statue, only bigger.

  My tongue notes every ripple of skin, every throbbing vein. I reach and hold the base, pulling back and forward, devouring him as his breathing intensifies, his strong thighs shudder.

  My own thighs warm further, and I can't help but slip a hand down as I work on him. My fingers dig beneath my skirt, brushing through my shaven pussy, probing at my clit. I massage both him and myself, one hand working at his cock, the other now sliding inside my cunt.

  “I never expected this...”

  Kyle's words stop me in my tracks, burst me from the living fantasy, and suddenly both my hands are retreating.

  I look up. “What?” I whisper.

  “You,” is all he says.

  Then he lifts me effortlessly, gently guides me back against the wall, and drops to his own knees. I watch as he now works his fingers at my skirt, unzipping it, pulling it down to my ankles. His eyes glow at the sight of my panties, gripping tight around my waist.

  “Amazing.” His voice is a whisper, not intended for me to hear. But I do, and it sends my heart soaring.

  I lose myself in the fantasy again, hardly believing it to be real. I shut my eyes, tilt my neck back, and feel my panties dragged down. A cold blast of air shoots between my legs, cooling me momentarily, but I keep my thighs closed.

  His fingers inch between them, both hands pulling my legs apart like a vise working in reverse. More cold air streams up against my warm pussy, sending a jolt of pleasure through me. But it's nothing compared to what comes next. Nothing compared to the action of his tongue, mining inside me. The touch of his thumb, working its way over my clit, discovering it faster than any guy has before.

  He sends one hand to the back of my left knee, and I feel my leg hoisted into the air. Still kneeling, he drops it onto his shoulder, hands gripping at my ass, and continues to gorge himself on my cunt. And all the while, I'm wondering when I'll wake up.

  A loud creak breaks me from the spell.

  My eyes open like a shot, my head twists quickly to the side. At the door stands a waitress, young and innocent looking, eyes bulging at the sight of Kyle's tongue inside me.

  “Oh, Mr Lawson, I'm so sorry...”

  Kyle is quickly to his feet, dick still standing to attention outside of his pants.

  “That's quite alright Isabelle. Please, fetch what you are here to fetch.”

  Isabelle darts in, sheepishly avoiding both our eyelines, and fumbles for a box of champagne. Kyle, meanwhile, cool as an iceberg, re
turns his manhood to its cell, returns his pants to their proper state, and straightens himself out. I balk at how casual he is, how nothing seems to faze him.

  He turns to me, still standing stuck against the wall, skirt and panties around my ankles, and drinks me in one more time.

  “We'll finish this another time,” he whispers, before disappearing out of the door, leaving me alone now with Isabelle as she continues to clatter around in the background.

  Feeling about as embarrassed as I ever have done, I hastily put myself back in order before the girl looks at me.

  “Sorry about that,” I say, abashed. The red of lust in my cheeks has been joined by that of abject humiliation and shame.

  She tentatively turns her head, as if checking I'm OK to look at now, and stands from the back of the room, holding a box of Cristal.

  “Don't worry. You see plenty round here.”

  And with that, she hurries off back out into the bar, keen to get back to work.

  Chapter Four

  I'm back in the hall, back to work. I catch sight of Kyle across the room, already holding a glass of whiskey. He holds a cigar, puffs on it nonchalantly while chatting to a group of similar aged men. He looks like the most relaxed man in the world, our secret meeting in the stock room already forgotten.

  It's not for me. I'm still living it, my head still filled with thoughts of him. I drift around the hall absentmindedly, half in a daydream, before Alice grips me by the arm and gives me a death stare to end all death stares.

  “This isn't Disneyland,” she grunts. “And you're not on vacation.” Her voice is low so that only I hear. Somehow, however, she fixes a smile to her face that is completely at odds with her tone of voice. As she told me before, always be smiling.

  “Focus, Belle, and get back to work.”